LIBRARY OF CONGRESS. 

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UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. 



VASHTI, OLD AND NEW; 



OR 



THE ETERNAL FEMININE. 



A ROMANCE OF THE WHEEL. 

— A Dramatic Idyl — 



BY 



MARVEL KAYVE. 

/ 



'Behind the clouds the starlight lurks, 

Through showers the sunbeams fall; 
For God, who loveth all his works, 

Has left his hope with all."— Whittibb. 






new york and chica< 
Authors' Publishing Hou 

im 







Copyright, 1896, by S. S. Stangker. 
All rights reserved. 






TO HIM WITH THE BIG HBABT 

And the royal nature, whose right hand knoweth not the do- 
ing of his left; who in this cold print shall be nameless, even 
as Ms deeds are elsewise recorded; on whom falls a gen- 
tle rain of blessing, coming from the sweet toilers whom he 
hath befriended; with whom he hath broken the bread of a 
sympathy woman-like, which is divine-like — who are by hun- 
dreds and by thousands in this one city by the lake; one who 
hath ever had a tender heart and an open hand for the un- 
fortunate, for the needy, or the aspiring ones, who to him 
are a sisterhood or a brotherhood and of a common family ; 
who hath a word of cheer for all who ask — and rightly— for 
honest and independent bread, or a modicum of the bounty 
of a universal Father who was not in fault, as many of us 
seem to say, when He made no reserve of good for any elect 
of sex. With these other lowly ones of earth do I say, God 
bless him, and give us a thousand-fold increase of his kind. 



PAGE BY PAGE. 



A Conversation. 
Introduction. 
The Eomance. 

Asleep 1 

The Scroll— 

The King and Feasters 

Vashti Made a Feast. 

The King's Command. 

The Queen's Refusal. 

The King Wrathful, 

Vashti Uncrowned. 

Masculine Terror. 

Woman's Contempt. 

Man's Assurance 

A King's Repentance. 

The King Consoled. 

The Vashtis Arise. 

The Vashtis Awheel 8 

The Smaller Scroll 9 

Jacob and Rachel. 

Meaning of the Scrolls 10 

The Message, 11 

Life a Journey 12 

Life's Highway 12 

Mother and Babe 13 

A Horoscope 14 

The Word Creative 16 



Life is Purpose 17 

Old Folks' Song 19 

The Dying Son 20 

Home Folks' Song 22 

Life in Death 23 

Boyesen on Love 24 

Lover's Song 25 

Accepted (Song) 26 

Birch Arnold's Philosophy. . . 29 

The Tragedy of Living 30 

The Underworld of Life 31 

The Woman Philosopher 31 

Heroic Girlhood 33 

Sentimental Injustice 35 

Woman's Heroism 36 

Woman in the Race 37. 

Vashti, Rachel, Edith 38 

The Marriage Song 39 

The Woman Teacher 41 

Prentice Mulford's Thought. 41 

Nature is Life Perennial 41 

Youth is Beauty, Life 42 

Choose not Black 43 

Dress is an Expression 44 

Suit Dress to Present Need . . 46 

What of Fashion? 46 

Woman's Right to Choose. . . 47 



Must be not Man's Dress 48 

Petticoats or Leggings 49 

A Law to Herself 50 

A Calamity to Avert 51 

By our Beard 52 

"Woman Beardless 52 

Tag the Masculine 53 

The Sex Intrinsic 54 

A Comedy. 55 

Queen Fashion 56 

"Dear Lady Crinoline" 57 

Evolution of the Wheel 58 

Evolution of the Dress 59 

Full Dress 60 

Father Antics 61 

The Maiden Messenger 61, 62, 114 
Better than Fashion's Smile. 62 

The Beach and Bathers 63 

The Magic Line 63 

A Strange Malady 64 

Consistency Unjeweled 64 

Queen Fashion Converted 67 

A Masculine Prude 68 

And Woman Suffers 69 

Woman Emerges 70 

The Sphere of Love 71 

The Comedy is Ended 71 

Status of Protestors 72 

Edith Assailed 73 

Edith's Champion, Jacob 74 

Free Sailing Ahead 76 

Beautiful Vashti 77 

An Irate Lover 78 

A Woman for the Occasion. . 78 
Edith's Sympathetic Sacri- 
fice 79 

The Sabbath Class 79 

The Lord's Prayer 80 

Jacob and the Boys 81 

The Spirit of Humaneness. . . 82 



Shakespeare's Word for Mercy 84 

The Street Accident 85 

There are Brutes and Brutes. 86 

The Boys' Mistake 87 

Brave, not Wanton 88 

The Tragedy 89 

Grave, Where is Thy Victory 90 

The Boys Repentant 91 

"Killin's Killin'" 92 

The Loyals 93 

The Pledge 94 

Penalty Fits the Crime 95 

The Boys Forgiven 96 

"Gone Forever" 97 

"I'm Nobody's Darling" 98 

Awake 98 

What are Dreams? 99 

"O Vashti Fair!" 99 

A Strange Experience 100 

Found 101 

Happiness 102 

Not Found 103 

The Paradox of Life 104 

A Lost Clue 105 

Is Life a Dream? 106 

Found at Last 107 

AreCalled "Lovers" 108 

The Kiddle 109 

Patiently Solving 110 

The Puzzle Deepens Ill 

Solved— The Best is Love. . . .112 

Progress by Self-Effort 112 

All is Real 113 

Love and Hope Reconciled.. .113 
Fellowship of Men with 

Women 114 

Larger Life, the Ending 114 

L' Envoi 114 

Aftermath. 

A Conversation. 



A CONVERSATION. 

Said his friend: "When Jacob wrought fourteen long years 
for one he loved, it was for Kachel. Do you think he would 
have waited so long for Vashti?" 

"One may not say," answered the book-maker, "for men 
have not all the same liking; but this we do know: of all the 
characters or types of womanhood in history, none, are more 
beautiful than is Yashti. Remember that King Ahasuerus 
repented him very speedily of his drunken folly; and only the 
laws of the Medes and Persians (that even a king could not 
alter) forbade him calling back to his arms one of whom he 
knew he was not worthy — one whose self-respect was stronger 
than the command of a king. — No, there was no fault in the 
Vashti of history, unless it were a fault to be too advanced for 
the masculinity (and it may be for the femininity) of her day." 

"Fourteen years— even seven— is a long time to wait for a 
woman!" 

"True, man is not the most patient of animals; but four- 
teen years in Jacob's time was really no longer than a few 
months are now." 



"Perhaps you are right," said his friend, resignedly; 
"and it may be that if the Jacobs of the coming time do not 
rise a little above the level of the Ahasueruses and the 
Memucans of old, the Vashtis of the future will make them 
wait, however unwillingly, even longer than Jacob waited for 
Rachel!" Then he added, reflectively, "The Ahasueruses of 
old seem to have assumed the right to fix the standard of 
feminine conduct, and yet to have placed it lower than 
woman herself would choose to have it!" 

"Man's standard for woman was certainly lower than the 
standard of the Vashtis," responded the book-maker, "and 
who will say it is not true even in our own day?" 

"Well, whether we will or no, a change is in the air. 
We may as well welcome the new order," continued his 
friend, philosophically; "and the reign of one who has begun 
to have her own way." 

"And the same old, sweet way, after all," added the 
book-maker. 



INTRODUCTION. 

Soul pictures are so real, it is almost impossible to inter- 
pret them by any other than soul language; and it was not the 
words, but the soul, which they so graphically and tenderly 
interpreted, that brought the glow of appreciative response, 
when following, at first with interest and at last with unwonted 
eagerness, this story in verse: Vashti, Old and New; which 
is the story of the "new woman," who is indeed no other than 
the true woman of all the centuries. 

"Original and unique" was my comment in the delight- 
ful perusal of this story of beautiful Yashti. Even the name of 
the author had a flavor of originality. Curiosity mingled with 
interest, as I began the reading, but ere half a dozen pages had 
been passed, I found myself too delightfully carried on to be 
curious, and before long 1 had forgotten to be critical, and set- 
tled down with a feeling of satisfied anticipation. While I 
read, and after, these pictures flashed successively upon my 
mind, as if in 



A WAKING VISION. 

Then it was that I lay me down upon my couch to meditatively 
re-enjoy in the gathering twilight, and suddenly flashed before 
me in panoramic forms of soul pictures, the characters and 
scenes introduced by the "book-maker," with all their broad 
and timely lessons; and I lay entranced, taught of Truth. 

There came in my vision, in letters of vivid light, the 
simple words, "ISTew "Womanhood," and, seeming to accompany 
them, the words, "Transformed through the renewing of the 
mind." As the increasing consciousness of all the fulness of 
those meanful words possessed me, I seemed to see them indeed 
typified in the Yashti of the poet's dream— Vashti, old and new! 

First, Vashti, the Queen— a "Queen of queens." Have you 
seen her? How shall I describe such heavenly beauty? I seem 
to see her when the King's demand has been made known 
to her. It is in a royally-fitted apartment. Standing before 
her is one of her maidens, in attendance; she bows before the 
Queen, and awaits her pleasure before she speaks. The Queen, 
with gracious, queenly gesture, commands the expected message, 
smilingly — and such a smile, it adds a charm inexpressible to 
her face so marvelously beautiful, and reveals her small, white 
teeth, each a dainty pearl. But suddenly a look of incredulous 
surprise, mingled with injured dignity, chases the smile away. 
She rises, as it were, to a loftier queenliness, and her very face 
bespeaks a queenly soul. Her look is a mingling of surprise, 
injured womanhood and firm revolt. An indescribable quiet- 
seems to clothe the whole form of the Queen, as she stands there 
pure, resolute and commanding. 

I note more closely now her beauty. Her low, broad 
brow attracts me, then her complexion, well matching the dark, 



fathomless eyes, well shaded by long, curling lashes, dark as her 
beautifully penciled eyebrows and her hair of midnight. 

I had had a glimpse of her when her hair was falling in 
luxuriant half-formed ringlets round her perfectly moulded 
form, so matchless in its every curve and outline of beauty; but 
now it is wound many times in braid about her shapely head, 
beyond the modern fashion's ken. 

Ever upon its soft, satin-like beauty falls a shadow from 
a crown. This crown is all resplendent with rare gems, but its 
brightest lustre is more than gem-like; it is divine, and seems, 
and surely is, a very part of her who wears the crown. 

Her mouth is simply luscious in its beauty, and over the 
whole face, from brow to moulded chin, a purity and a dignity 
well match the purity and luminous truth in the wondrous 
soul-lit eyes. 

Vashti is tall, but her height seems in necessary propor- 
tion to her magnificent and perfect beauty. 

This is Vashti, glorious in her splendid birthright of 
female loveliness. This is Yashti, standing there in that 
supreme moment of her life, never more queenly than now in her 
humiliation, never more beautiful than in this the involuntary 
protest of her transcendent womanhood. Queen indeed is she 
and by inheritance divine, like the laws of her queendom of 
Media and Persia, not to be unmade of her true crown, by men 
and King combined. This is Vashti, one of the "King's 
daughters." 

This is Vashti as she stood before me, newly recognized 
and honored in this nineteenth century; fit type of every- 
century womanhood, a sister twin of Mary, mother of the Christ. 
She embodies history of the highest womanhood of old, and. 



prophecy of the best to come; a type that finds its natural God- 
given place in millennial days now dawning. This is Vashti, 
old yet ever new. 

Now, as in the dreamer's Vision, the picture changes, and 
I see the King. It were fitting that he were a king as Vashti 
was a queen, or by inheritance of soul. Contrast, not com- 
parison or semblance, is the picture flashed upon my mind. 
Sensual is his look, and he is one who must be sensually blinded, 
as he feasts with fellows of his ilk— all on a common plane 
and low. 

He is short and thick-set — not so tall as Vashti. Nor is 
his hair so dark as Vashti 's. A beard he has that covers well 
his face, leaving little else than heavy eyebrows, and his blear- 
ing, blinking eye, of a soul besotted in the revelry of wine. 

On his throne he sits, and gathered at the festive board are 
the men of rule and war. On the King are long garments, rich 
in texture, the habiliments of royalty; but worn as is the toggery 
of clowns. Of the feasters, some are robed in loose and flowing 
garments, robes of state, and others in the armor of the warrior. 

And ill-fitting was the crown of this a pseudo-king, 
whose word was law, and en ough to blast the name and hope of 
highest purity and loveliness itself. In my vision of this ruler, 
the crown will not rest quietly in its wonted place, but has a 
bent for slipping fore and aft and sideways ; so the king has need 
to make adjustment often, which he does without a show of 
kingliness! 

Mingled with the light and glare of this old feasting 
chamber, was a darkness peculiar, and invisible but to psychic 
vision. It is daylight, but an inky blackness of debauchery is 
there, as if an atmosphere within an atmosphere, It was as if 



a cloudiness of darkness, betokening the soul's condition. 

Within this darkness is a flash of light supernal and it 
writes a message; but all unheeded is the light and message, aye, 
and all the darkness visible — unheeded by King and feasters. A 
heavenly warning is this message, one of warning and restraint; 
it is as if an inward and an outward message. Repentance 
was the call of this appearance and its warning. 

So, seeing not the word, there was no heeding — no 
restraint, and to the Queen was sent the fateful message that 
was yet to make a King repent — too late! 

Now I see the dreamer; he is asleep, and he lies upon a 
luxurious couch, in the abandon of complete repose. It is a 
large upper room overlooking a most beautiful landscape. 
Through the large open windows are blowing soft breezes with 
joyous whisperings of happiness, lost at times in the low 
cadences of sad suggestion. The sleeper is dreaming, and the 
tenor of his dream-thoughts is reflected on his face half-hidden 
in a cloudiness of aura, as if an inspirational radiance were 
visible — to psychic sight. The face has now an animated 
expression, with a bright smile playing about the features, and 
anon a shadow flitting across it, as if a sadness were in 
the heart. 

I notice that there are two of him; the one upon the couch 
being a shadow-like counterpart of a real dreamer above the 
sleeping form. 

There has come suddenly into the room a troop of 
wheelers, "nor men nor boys, but maidens all;" and their move- 
ments are with "rare ease and grace, marvelous to behold." 
These maidens carry a huge Scroll which, the while they are 
unrolling it, the dreamer seems to read. 



One of these is a leader, and she is like the Vashti I saw, 
who was queen, but this maiden is younger and, as it were, a 
modern woman. She has in her immediate following one of 
fairer complexion but not more beautiful. Others are grouped 
near by, and all are radiantly interested. Some are fair, with 
golden hair; some are darker in complexion, with a charm their 
own. They are very graceful in their grouping, and each one 
stands near a wheel that itself seems a life-like part of the 
strikingly beautiful scene. 

When the reading is ended I see that the dreamer has a 
thoughtful look upon his face. The leader questions the 
dreamer, and all the girls seem greatly pleased at the an- 
swering. 

Then they "backward turned, and wheeling, all in order, 
rolled up the Scroll;" but they leave it behind them, and "tied 
around with ribbons, white and blue, and lying, now unguarded 
upon a bank of flowers." 

While yet they tarried, there fell upon my ear that sad 
Eefrain of Life that the dreamer heard so often in the after 
Vision. When I wondered from whence it came, I saw that 
across the widespread landscape, with its beauty of hill and dale 
and stream and forest, a Highway and a City came in view. 
From the dreamer, to this City and along the Highway, was a 
dark and cloudy atmospheric current (visible only to soul-seeing); 
and upon this current, was borne the wail of burdened, breaking 
hearts that had yet to learn to find and claim and to manifest 
the power of Eternal Good. 

In the thought of this strange scene, I saw that the 
dreamer bad now awakened. 

J^ow the scenes crowd and grow upon me, and to portray 



them in words is to write another book. The dreamer has 
again been "soothed to slumber" by "voices musical," and I see 
Jacob of old standing in a field. Rachel is near him, and not far 
off is Leah. Jacob is not tall; he is a bearded man, with dark 
eyebrows, and he holds in his hands a shepherd's staff. Rachel 
has almond-shaped eyes, a beautiful mouth, and a forehead that 
reminds one of the Madonna. Her eyes are brilliant with truth 
and love; yet she is tender-eyed and childlike, as with a true sim- 
plicity — more than Leah, though both are beautiful. The 
mouth of Leah shows pride, and there is not the sweetness in 
her face that is in that of Rachel. 

One now appears who must be Laban; and most peculiar 
looking is this old fellow. He is very dark, and he has an 
oriental garb, but not like anything I have seen before, even in 
pictures. Laban speaks to Rachel in commanding tone, and 
the girl flushes and walks away. Leah lingers, but Jacob's eyes 
are with Rachel. He will have no say with Leah, but walks 
away to where are standing cattle grazing. The scene closes 
with Laban talking to Leah. 

The waking visions cease not; scene upon scene is 
pictured, as by magic, before my receptive soul. With the 
distinctness of life, the pictures come and fade. I see the maiden 
beautiful — leader of the girls, and often. Soon I learn to 
recognize in her the Vashti of our day. Like her of old whose 
name she bears, she is a queen of queens. She is regal because 
of her inborn fitness, and the choice of those who have crowned 
her in their hearts. Her outward grace, beauty, dignity, inde- 
pendence and self-command are but a necessary expression of a 
rounded royal nature. No fear of accident or of illness does she 
know, for has she not recognized the Source of Life, and learned 



to control the forces and elements that were to be her servants? 
A sweet, contrasting simplicity is noticeable in all she says or 
does, and it makes her beloved by all. I claimed her forthwith 
as my own heart-friend. 

Nor is this our Vashti too good for our dawning 
century, I exclaimed; and I questioned: "Where is he her true 
soul-mate, and worthy of the sacred treasure of her love — which 
with woman is ever one with life." 

Then clearly came to me the words of Vashti when the 
reading of the Scroll was ended. Said Vashti: "Tell us, dost 
thou understand the meaning of the writing?" The dreamer 
said: "Methinks the meaning is so plain that he who runs may 
read. If one may be like Vashti of so long ago, well fitted she 
to be of those that are to come in years unborn. And Jacob, 
though he lived longer ago than Vashti, in his loyalty, his faith- 
fulness, and manliness, a worthy type is he of centuries hence. — 
Read I aright?" And these were Vashti's words in answer: 
"Thou hast a heart that well deserves a woman's love, else thou 
hadst not interpreted so well the Scroll." So when I saw the 
dreamer and that he was one who well and worthily could inter- 
pret woman true, or old or new, — from somewhere echoed 
Vashti's words: "Thou hast a heart that well deserves a woman's 
love," and I claimed him Vashti's Jacob. 

But the Jacob who worthily deserves the love of Vashti 
must needs not only be true as was Jacob, who served so long for 
Rachel, but he must have in him the best of the coming 
centuries. For man, as well as woman, will be demanded a 
divinely royal nature. Must the Vashtis be strong, pure and 
true? So must the Jacobs. When it shall come that man and 
woman instinctively shall express their God-inherited natures, 



then will the Jacobs and the Vashtis first meet on their native 
plane— that of soul, and know each other beyond questioning 
and live millennial lives. 



Lo, a vision, clear and vivid, 

came and chased all else away, 
Now I saw the lovely Vashti 
stand before her irate lover, 

saw her pained surprise and wonder, 
as she paused to reconsider. 
Then I saw her form grow stately, 
and I saw her eyes flash queenly, 
as she drew off from her finger 
a love-token he had given, 

when they thought their souls 

were wedded. 
Quick the scene now changed before me. 
Once again I saw fair Vashti 
— at her side another lover. 
He it was her true soul-lover, 
and I noted without wonder, 

that her constant, worthy lover 
was the dreamer, was a seer. 
Aye, indeed, a true soul-prophet, 
though so oft he had been faulty 

in his lack of trust and knowledge 
of the visions in his dreams. 
Knowing not they were God's message 
writ indeed by God's own finger, 
on the tables of his heart 

and reflected for his seeing, 

for his seeing and his guidance 

as appeared in dream-like Vision, 



As they stood, the God-wed lovers, 
stood apart and plain before me, 
In a pure and radiant vision 
folded in a radiant glory, 

slowly did a change come o'er them 
and they seemed but one, yet two, 
as they faded from my view. 

One more vision in the darkness 
clearly saw I as 't was given: 

Vashli of the Bible story 

stood a very queen before me 
followed by a line of women, 
till our Jacob's Vashti came. 

Some were young and full of beauty, 
as to outward form and feature, 

some were worn with toil and sorrow, 
but I noted that above them 

and beyond them, stood their true selves, 
stood the second self of each one, 
and they all were truly royal, 
and in beauty passing fair. 
All the centuries' best and purest 
were before me, in my vision, 

and above each one a name flashed 
— it was ever, always, Vashti, 
ever differing, yet the same. 

Some were queens, by ea,rthly naming, 
some were toilers for their bread, 
— all were Vashtis! 

While I pondered well the vision, 
came a line of men before me, 

and the Jacobs of the centuries 
as the Vashtis pictured were. 



Suddenly I surely noted 

Vashti Queen, and queenly Vashti, 
and the others all between, 

slow began to near each other, 

by a sure and inward drawing, 

till, at last, they met and blended, 
Blended fully in each other 

and enfolded in that blending 
all the Vashtis in the line. 

So the Jacobs of the centuries 

blended in one radiant manhood 
— the true manhood of our day. 

One brief moment there before me 
stood the dreamer, nor alone; 

close beside him was his Vashti 

— Vashti strong and free and love-crowned, 
stood they there a moment only 
and were gone. 
Long the visions, brief in passing, 
scarce the twilight hour had fled, 
thrilled, uplifted, by the lessons 
taught by seeing, soft I said: 

"He was right, was Bealf, rare poet, 
when he wrote with vision keen: 
'Never poem has been written 
but the metre was outmastered 
by the meaning.'' " 

Isabel F. Jones. 



THE ROMANCE. 



! ! 



I slept 

— yet seemed I 

not asleep; for what I saw 

was real, 

even as Life is real. 

It was a 

Scroll 

—a long, long Scroll; 

Before my very eyes 

was it unrolled; 

On the unrolling thereof 

did I read 

the writing thereon 

and in 

these words: 



(History repeats itself; 

as it was in the beginning 

so it shall be even unto the close 

of the Nineteenth Century.) 



A Nineteenth Century King. 

Now it came to pass 

in the days of Ahasuerus, the King, 
That he made a Feast 

unto all his princes and his servants; 
The power of Persia and Media, 

the nobles and the princes of the provinces 
being before him; 
Wlien he showed the riches 

of his glorious Kingdom 
and the honor of 

his excellent Majesty; 
And the drinking 

was according to law, 

none did compel; 
For so the King had appointed 
to all his officers 
That they should do 

according to every man 
his own pleasure. 



A Nineteenth Century Incident. 

Also Vashti, the Queen, 

made a Feast 
for the women in the royal house 

which belonged to King Ahasuerus; 
and none there were drunken. 



On the seventh day 

when the heart of the King 
was merry with wine 
Me commanded to bring 

Vashti the Queen 
before the King 

with the crown royal 
To show the people 

and the princes 
her beauty; 

for she was fair to look on. 
(But the drinking 

was according to law 

and none did compel.) 



A Twentieth Century Queen. 
The Queen, 

(a Queen of queens,) 
refused to come 

at the King's command. 



A Nineteenth Century King, Court 
aad People. 

Therefore was the King very wroth, 
(as well as drunken,) 
and his anger 

burned in him. 
Then the King said 

to the wise men, 
What shall we do 

unto the Queen Vashti 

according to law, 



Because she hath not 

performed the commandment 

of the King Ahasuerus? 
And Memucan answered 
before the King 

and the princes: 
Vashti the Queen 

not only to the King 

hath done wrong, 
But wrong also 

to all the princes 

and to all the people. 

Nineteenth Centwry Justice. 
(Kicking against the pricks.) 

If it please the King 

let there go from him 

a royal commandment, 
And let it be written 

among the laws 

of the Medes and Persians, 
That it be not altered, 

that Vashti come no more 

before King Ahasuerus. 
(And, lo! until the Nineteenth Century 
— till at its very close — 
Was it not altered 

that for all the Vashtis 

the kings made royal commandment.) 
And let the King 

give her royal estate 

unto another better than she 
— (Better than she 

who was good enough 

for the Twentieth Century). 



A Nineteenth Century Conscience. 

When it shall be reported 

that the King Ahasuerus 
commanded 

Vashti the Queen 
to be brought in before him, 
but she came not, 
This doing of the Queen 
shall go abroad 

unto all women 

So that they in their eyes 
shall despise 

their husbands! 



A Glimpse 

Of the Twentieth Century. 

[Forebodings.) 

The ladies of Persia and Media 

when they have heard 
Of this deed 

of the Queen Vashti, 
Shall say likewise 

to the King's princes! 
Thus shall there arise 

too much contempt 
and wrath! 
(Let wives be subject 

to their husbands 

in everything. 



Nineteenth Century Force. 

But when shall be published 
the King's decree, 
All the wives 

to their husbands 
Both great and small 

shall give honor. 
Thus did the King 

according to the advice of Memucan 
( — Advice that pleased him). 



Selfish Bepentance 
(As well never as too late), 
The Like of Which is not Unknown ■ 
In This Nineteenth Century. 

It came to pass 

that the wrath of the King 
was appeased, 
And then it was 

that he remembered Vashti; 
But he remembered also 

that for what she had done, 
[According to the laws 

of the Medes and Persians,) 
It had been decreed 
against her 
[According to the advice 

that pleased him), 
And might not be altered. 






Kingly Constancy. 

Then said the King's servants: 
Let there be sought 

for the King 

fair young virgins, 
And, instead of Vashti, 

(too good for even a king 

who belonged not to her own era,) 
Let the maiden be Queen 

which best pleaseth thee 
[And this, also, pleased the King). 



On the Eve 
Of the Twentieth Century. 

And, lol it shall come to pass 
that there shall be 
Men of the like of Ahasuerus 

and of the like of Memucan, 
■ And that when 

for their own pleasure, 

(as men drunken), 
They shall command 

the doing of what 

pleaseth themselves only, 
They shall be despised 
in the eyes of 

all the Vashtis 
Who will do only 

what seemeth good 

in their own eyes! 



This was the Scroll; 
But not alone 
did I give thought to it 
For in the unrolling 

was something more strange 
than in the words: 
While unrolled, 

the Scroll was carried 

by a company; 
— Not of men or hoys 
— All were girls 

young and beautiful; 
Nor were they walking 
for each one rode 
upon a wheel 
— Nay, upon two wheels 
and with rare ease 
and grace 
marvelous 

to behold. 
In their hands 
(besides the Scroll) 
each one carried a flag; 
And the flags 

were of two colors 

— blue and white. 
These gave the thought 
of Peace 
of Love 

of Faithfulness; 
But of red 

there was no flag 
For the meaning of red 
was blood 
and danger 
not Peace, 



So here was no place 

for it. 
Only in the young faces 

was any red 
And it was rich 

pure crimson 
Which had the meaning 
of Life. 
When the unrolling 

was ended 
I had read and heeded 

all the words; 
When this they saw, 

upon the faces of the girls 
There came a glow of pleasure, 
as of a purpose served; 
Then they backward turned 
and, wheeling all in order, 
rolled up the Scroll 
— and I awoke! 

When I awoke 
I was in darkness 

and (lying in my bed) 
I pondered long 
upon the Vision. 
Not as dreams 

are wont to be 
but as Life itself 

was the Vision real. 

Soon mine eyes 
began to close 

and voices musical 
soothed me again 

to slumber, 
When lo! appeared 



the self-same company. 
Now rolled together 

was the Scroll; 
And, tied around with ribbons 

white and blue, 
'T was lying on a bank of flowers 
and unguarded. 
Dismounted were the girls 
together grouped 

as if in waiting; 
In their faces 

there was gladness 

— smiles of welcome. 
None had spoken, 

but a sign was made 

by one— a leader. 
Two forward came 

in answer, 
Holding now 

a second Scroll 
But smaller 

than the other. 
This did they unroll 
and, in the silence, 

I had chance 

to read: 

And Laban said to Jacob: 
Tell m£ what shall be 

thy wages? 
And Jacob loved Rachel 

and said: 
For Rachel 

thy younger daughter 
J will serve thee 

seven years. 



And Laban said: 
It is better 

that I give her to thee 
Than to another man 

— abide with me. 
And Jacob sewed for Rachel 

seven years, 
And unto him they seemed 

but a few days 
For the love he had 

to her. 
And Jacob said unto Laban: 
Give me my wife, 

for my days are fulfilled. 
And it came to pass 

in the evening 
That lie took Leah, 

his daughter, 
And brought her 

to Jacob. 
And it came to pass 

that in the morning 

behold it was Leah! 
And he said 

to Laban: 
Bid I not serve with thee 

for Rachel? 
Why hast thou 

beguiled me? 
And Laban said: 
It must not be so done 

in our country 
To give the younger 

before the first-born! 
And he gave him Rachel 

to wife also. 



And Jacob loved Rachel 

more than Leah; 
And for her 

he served with Laban 
yet other seven years! 

Having read the Scroll, 

I turned inquiringly, 
Awaiting pleasure 

of the company; 
One spoke: 
"Now tell us; 

dost thou understand 
the meaning 

of the writing?" 

"Methinks," I said, 

"The meaning is so plain 
that he who runs 
may read. 
If one may be like Vashti 

of so long ago, 
Well fitted she to be 

of those who are to come 
in years unborn. 
And Jacob, 

though he lived longer ago 
than Vashti, 
In his loyalty, 

his faithfulness 

and manliness, 

A worthy type is he 

of centuries hence. 
Eead I aright?" 

"Thou hast a heart 



10 



that well deserves 

a woman's love, 
Else tbou hadst not 

interpreted so well 

the Scrolls. 
Now let us 

to our purpose here: 
Thou art our Friend 

and Brother; 
We have chosen thee 

to bear for us 
a Message 
to the world. 
First tell we thee: 

Not spirits of another world 
(departed hence) are we; 

Bodies have we 

of flesh and blood 
And (like your own) they lie 
in pose and state 
of slumber. 
We are our second selves 
together banded for a purpose 
(and unknown 

to our own minds 
which have control 

of waking hours). 
When, in early morn 

our bodies shall arise, 
No knowledge 

will have come to us 

of this our doing! 
But you— when you awake 
will you remember 
as if 't were a dream; 
But we would have you know 



that it is 

more than dream! 
In all your life 
no thoughts have come to you 
more real than this reality. 
Your second self it is 
now holding 

pleased communion 
with our second selves. 

But to our Message 

(lest the daylight come 
and noise or murmur 
call us back 
to wakefulness 
and ere our task 
he ended)." 
Then a look she gave to one, 
who forward came, 

and singing: 

"Fix thou well 

upon thy memory 
What thou learnest 

here to-night; 
On the morrow 

thou wilt waken 
And, by writing, 

thou mayest tell it 

everywhere." 
Then they sang, in chorus: 
"Tell it, everywhere; 
To thy Brother, 
And our Brother, 

everywhere 
—to Man. 
Be it in our 



songs or speeches, 
Be it in our 

pictures fair, 
Everything shall be 

a lesson 
Easy learned 

and easy heeded; 
Tell it— tell it— 

everywhere 
— To thy Brother 

and our Brother 
— To Our Brothers 

everywhere 
— Everywhere 

to Man." 

As the echo of their voices 

died away, 
Lo! I saw 

a living picture 

— nothing strange 

but all familiar; 
Yet, did it 

(more than the singing) 
touch my heart 
with its refrain. 
"Hark!" said one 

in pose of list'ning, 

"Hear the music; 
Listen ! Listen! 

Saddest of refrains! 
Listen, brother! 

Thou wilt hear it." 
Stronger did it grow 

and stronger 
Till it sounded 



11 



loud and clear. 
There were words 

but very simple 
Words we all 

have heard before: 
"Life," they told us, 

"is a Journey;" 
And these words 

were oft repeated 

in the sad Eefrain. 
Why (I thought) 

so sad the music 

(though the melody 

was sweet) 
—Why are journeys 

not more welcome 
Than forever staying, resting, 

in the home? 
"Life a Journey is," 

the answer, 
Came in music through the air 
in sad refrain. 

Well the picture with the music 
seemed to blend 
And I knew they had 

a meaning: 
In the picture 

was a Highway 
Long and rough 

with many turns. 
There were levels, 

swards of green 

and pleasure-places; 
But of breaks 

of holes and hillocks 



13 



there were many more; 
More than there were 

resting-places 
were the ups and downs. 
Hill and valley 

rock and stream 

— such it was 

in all its course. 

On this Highway 

they were moving 
— Trudging, coursing, 

marching ever; 
Were they creeping, 

were they racing, 
always were they 

moving on. 
And there were 

of every nation, 
Every age and class 

and station; 
Babes and children, 

men and women, 
Healthy, ailing, 

strong or helpless; 
Crowding, jostling, 

were the many, 
Only few 

were helping others. 

"Is there purpose 

in it? 
— In this striving 

In this struggling?" 
"Life's a Journey," 

sang the Voices, 
As again I asked 



the question: 
"What the purpose 

in it all?" 

And I saw that they 

who journeyed, 
'Gainst the currents 

had to buffet 
Had all hardships 

to endure 
—Obstacles 

to overcome. 
"Is there any purpose 

in it?" 
But no answer 

to our questioning, 
"Not ever ceased the multitude 
to move along. 

Then I saw 

along the way 

a home; 
And in it was a mother 

crooning softly 

to her babe. 
Sweeter was her voice 

than nightingale 

or summer zephyr 
(Aye, in all the earth 

naught else so sweet 

as voice of mother). 
While we listened, 
all the people 
(who were journeying) 
seemed to pause 
to listen with us. 
This is what she sang: 



cradle here on my knee, 

my child, 
And close those eyes 

in sleep, 
TJwse beautiful eyes 

of heavenly blue, 
Wee drops are they 

of Heaven's own dew 
For a time to earth 

now given; 

1 pray that the soul 

that looks out of them here 
Be kept ever safe 

from all danger and fear 
Till it find its way back 

to Heaven. 

While the mother sang 

the crooning lullaby 

to sleeping babe, 
A man of giant frame 
and serious mien 
(who in adjoining room 
was writing) 

stopped to listen. 
Brushing with his hand 

a tear away, 
He slowly rose and tiptoed 
to a near-by couch 
Wherein were sleeping 
sweet girl babes 

— two sisters. 
Long and lovingly he gazed; 

then taking up a Book 
He opened it, and read 

these words: 



13 



Buth said: 

Entreat me not 

to leave thee, 
Or to return 

from following after thee; 
For whither thou goest 

I will go, 
And where thou lodgest 

I will lodge; 
Thy people shall be my people, 
And thy God my God. 

He read as one 

who loved the meaning; 
Then he turned the leaves 

and read again 
(But long he paused 
when he had read these words> 
and closed the Book): 

Fast ye for me 

and neither eat nor drink 

three days, 
I also 

and my maidens; 

And so will I go in 

unto the King 

( Which to the law 

is not according) 

And if I perish 

I perish. 

These were the words 

of Esther 
—Words of her who dared 

displeasure of the King 
(The King whom Vashti dared 



14 



to her undoing) 
— Dared that she might save 

her people and herself. 

And now the picture faded 

and was gone. 
Long away upon the Highway 

in a distant city 
Were a gathered few 

in Class, at study: 
The teacher was a man 

of gentle manner 
— One who studied of the stars 

and taught their meaning. 
"She was born," he said, 

"July — this month — 
The hour was four o'clock 
and minutes seventeen; 
't was afternoon 
and Sunday. 
As I promised you, 

we cast, to-night, 

the horoscope 
Of this new baby sister 

of our little friends 
—of Kuth and Esther." 

Then he spoke 

of many things 

about her life to be; 
Whereat I wondered, for to me 
it was not well 
For man to say what is to be 

the future! 
Man knoweth not 

(we have been told) 

the hour or day; 



How shall helmow 

the future 

Which may be far surer 
to his own undoing 

than to his unraveling! 

Not all could I repeat 

of what he said 
If even it were 

to my liking so to do; 
But more remembered I 

than may be understood: 

"Charts are maps," 

said he, "of forces, 
In the worlds around, 

which play upon us. 
Now within the soul 

is latent power 

—'tis spirit. 
Spirit may discern itself 

and so it is that psychic force 
may lift the veil. 

This babe has future bright 

before her. 
Not unclouded is her life, ' 
for sickness (even trouble) 
is for her 
As trouble is for all 

of woman born. 

But auspices are good 

and full of promise 
Of a life above the level 

of the crowd. 



She will have 

a mind original 

—even curious shall be 
ideas her own. 
She will dominate 

through mind; 
In books and thought 

more than in art 
will she find fields 

to rove. 

Friends will come to her 
but better it will be 
if they be few than many! 
— This is strange to speak 

but true. 

She will be original 
— big-hearted, unconventional, 
yet lacking naught 

in dignity of manner. 

Will she marry? 

Yes, and marry well — 
One standing high 

in office, or in state; 
Nor think you she will marry 

politics alone, 
For that were marrying ill, 

not well; 
Aye, Heaven help the maid 
who marries less than 

character, 
Or only wealth, or name, 

or high position! 
— Much of promise 

has the future of this babe." 



"Her name?" one asked; 
"Her naming 

is beyond the teaching 
of this Chart," 
he answered. 
"Were she mine, 

her name would Vashti he, 
or Rachel. 
Yashti — Rachel ! 

woman new and old; 
All beautiful 

and good. 
The new 

includes the old; 
It is the greater 

that includes the less; 
The good in woman 
of the ages past 

is woman's now; 
Though woman now 
to woman past 

owes all her present, 
"What is better now in her 
— advanced, less fettered — 

is her own. 
Vashti — Rachel 

— woman new and old 

but always woman; 
Always pure and true, 

aye, lovely, lovable 

and loving. 
This young babe 

if they do call her Rachel 

it is well; 
Yet I would call her 

Yashti. 



Now to our Lesson: 

choose thou each a Word; 
Let it be 

thy very own; 
In the Silence 

ponder on it; 
It will grow 

within thy being 
It will build 

within thy Soul; 
In the beginning 
was the Word 
and the Word was God. 
So thy Word — thy Logos — 

shall creative be; 
So will grow thy Soul — 

thy Spirit — by thy Word. 
Tbou hast learned already 
that thy form 

is thine own Spirit 

manifest; 
What thou art 

(as men observe thee) 
Is expression — the creation — 

of thy Spirit. 
Choose thou then thy Word 

and make it serve thee. 
Let it be a principle 

of Truth, of Right 
Within thy Soul 

forever working. 
Know thou hast within thyself 

creative power and choice; 
For only thus 

couldst thou work out 
thine own salvation. 



16 



Aye, thou hast choice 

to build within thyself; 
And thou mayest build for good, 
or lesser good. 
Build for the best 

and sooner shalt thou learn 
the purpose of thy being. 
Choose thou well 

thy Logos, 
Build thou well 

O Spirit; 
Let thy choice be Good 
—what raaketh most for 

Bighteousness." 

He paused 

and long I wondered 
that he spoke so well, 

and for the good 
— not evil; 
For I had looked, 

from such as he, 

for evil only; 
But I thought it well 

that in his teaching 
there was plan 
and purpose 
and not chaos! 

— "When he paused 

a pupil questioned 

of a brother pupil: 
"Tell me — what the Logos 

of the teacher?'' 
"It is Peace," he said. 

"And thine?" 



"Is Sympathy," 

he answered. 
Then I thought well chosen 

was the Logos of- the pupil; 
Well in touch 

with all of Nature 
With the high, the low, 

the fallen, 
Sympathy will bring him. 
Sympathy would be a solvent 
for the ills and pains 
of others; 
It would draw all men 

together, 
It would be a bond 

of union; 
And I said 

I, too, will choose it 

as my Logos 
— I will choose 

as did the pupil 

—"Sympathy." 

One questioned of the teacher: 
"Is it fate 

that has the saying 

in our lives? 
Or are we guided? 

—Are we driven? 
— Have we naught of choice?" 
He answered: 

"Yes and no; is purpose fate? 
Then it is fate to live, 

to move, to have our being; 
Life has purpose, 

Life is purpose; 



17 



Yet impelled are we 

—not driven, 
And drawn on are we 

—not guided, 
While we all 

have choice. 

Is it paradox? 

So Life itself is paradox; 
Yet Life has meaning, 

plan and purpose. 
If »t is fate 

to have a time for birth 
And fate to live 

the life appointed; 
Then our Life indeed 

has much of fate; 
For when the time is ripe 

the seed is planted; 
When the time appointed 

is fulfilled 
The Soul emerges 

into being. 
Shall we say 't is fate 

to be surrounded 
By the forces 

of our outer world? 
Or 't is fate to have 

some knowledge 
Of the powers 

of these forces 
All around us 

and about us? 
Knowing our environment, 
and every force 
that bears upon us, 



We invite and welcome 

— or forbid — resisting; 
For the good 

shall we be not unready, 
ISTor against the evil 

be unguarded? 
If 'tis fate to live for aught, 

to live in power for purpose, 
We may know that Life is fate, 

then we may say: 
"Rejoice, O man, to live, 

and welcome — fate!" 

Once again 

the picture faded 
Once again 

the sad Eefrain, 
And the Voices, 

as I listened, 
Sang the words 
in plaintive tone: 
"This Life's a Journey 

— Life's a Journey — 

and the Highway 

is for all." 
And I saw 
the throng kept moving 

always moving — moving on, 
When I questioned: 

What the meaning 

— Is there purpose 
in it all? 
The answer was an echo 

of the sad Refrain: 
"This Life's a Journey- 
Life's a Journey;" 



18 



And the throng 

kept moving on. 

Then I saw a waste 

of waters 
And a picture 

on beyond; 
Now aged and feeble, 

sad and lonely, 
Two were sitting, 

singing low. 
Within sight of ocean 

sat they — 
Ocean vast and grand 

and sad; 
Sore chafing 

where its bounds were stayed. 
There in its sough 

was sigh and sorrow, 
In its restless swell 

was sobbing, 
— Yoicing of Eternity. 
Grand monotone 

of Life and Being 
All-embracing, 

all-devouring, 
Loved and feared 

as is the human! 
Looking out 

upon its surface, 
Wondering of its power, 

its meaning, 
Sadly, softly, 

did they sing 
These homely words, 

and simple melody: 



We're lonely without you, 
our boy, 
While darkness 

overshadows 

the lea, 
Why stay you 

forever away 

so far o'er the deep, 

roaring seaf 
We've waited 

your coming 

for years 
While wa,ve after wave 

beat the shore, 
And prayed 

to our Father in Heaven 
To bring our dear boy 

home once more. 

While they sat 

at open window 
Singing 

as I heard them there, 
Close without 

within the tree-shade, 
Listening all 

was group of neighbors, 
These were playmates 

of the absent one, 

of long before. 
Sympathetic, 

tenderhearted, 
Often had they joined 

at evening 
Gathered there 

to wait some message 
From the one 

in far-off land. 



When the old folks' song 

was ended, 
In a chorus 

they would join, 
And I listened 

to their singing: 

Sadly we'll watch 

till you come 
Though slow pass the days 

now so few; 
write us and say 

that you do not forget 
— We never cease thinking 

of you. 
Then the mother 

sat there, sobbing, 
And, tremblingly, the old man 
sang alone: 
How often 

beside the old cot 
Does mother sit lonely 

and weep; 
She has only one 

waking thought, 
She dreams of her boy 

while asleep; 
where is our dear boy 

— our child! 
We hoped — O so long — 

he would write 
— The postman has passed 
— no letter has come 
And O we are lonely 

to-night. 

And now from o'er the water 

was another picture: 



'T was a farmer's dwelling 
—Homely plain 

and unpretentious; 
Hearty, wholesome, 

not ungentle, 
Were the manners 

of the people 

in this home. 
Within, upon a bed, 

in restless fever, 
Lay a man 

who yet while young 
was old. 
There were friends 

around him 
— Friends who nursed him well 
and soothed 

his dying pillow. 
There was one 

whose presence 
Brought him comfort, peace, 

and restfulness 
(As always does the presence 

of a mother). 
Near the end, 

the sick man 

to this mother said: 
"You have been to me 

a mother; 
— I have wondered 

why you loved me, 
So unworthy am I 

of such holy blessing; 
Only God 

can now reward you 
For I know that I 

am dying 



20 



— I have naught 

to pay you." 
Then she answered him 

— this woman beautiful— 
And smiling 

in her tears: 
"Already have I been 

rewarded; 
God has blessed me 

— Am I not a mother? 
'T is the mother-love 

he gave me 

that is yours; 
I have loved you 

as I hope 
Some mother of her love 

unstinting 
May have given 

my dear boy 
So long away and far 

from home." 
"I am comforted," 

he answered, 
"And I pray that you 

be blessed 
With love of son 

more worthy 
Of a mother's love 

than I have been; 
I, too, am long away 

and far 
From her who gave me 

birth, 
And when I said 

'good bye' 
I gave her promise 



I would write 

and tell her all my life: 
May God forgive 

my sin inhuman; 
Long have I 

neglected her 
Who never for one day, 

mayhap one hour, 
Has had me out of mind 

— me so unworthy 
— 'T is my sin 

hardest to forgive." 
Whereat he wept. 
"Forgiven is the mother's boy 

already," 
Said the woman, 
"For she loves you yet 

—your mother, 
And you shall write to her 
to-night." 
With this the mother, 
sweet and beautiful 

as mothers are, 
Took pen to write 

the story of it all 
— The wandering, 

neglect, repentance, 
But — the best of all — 

of love not dead. 
"Write it again," he said, 

in tears, 
"I love you, 

mother dear, 
I love you now 

• as ne'er before ■ 

— my mother." 



21 



When 'twas done 

— the letter sealed — 
The dying man 

said, faintly: 
"Ask them, mother, 

now to sing 

the song I love." 
And then one sang 

with tender voice 

this song: 

The home folks 

are the best folks 

when you're sick 
And from your own home 

far away, 
Though plain their ways 

their hearts are big, 
God bless them everywhere 

we say; 
When earth is fair 

and Fortune smiles on you 
And giddy Fashion 

has her sway, 
'Tis only then 

you may not know 

their worth, 
For Fashion's way 

is not their way. 

And then in chorus 

sang they all 
— The brothers and the sisters 
of this home 

so beautiful: 

God bless the home folks 

tried and true, 



We dearly love 

their honest way, 
The latch-string out 

through good or ill, 
God bless them everywhere 

we say. 

' 'Yes — everywhere 

—I— say," 
The dying man repeated; 
— with these words 

his life went out. 

I was taken back again 
across the waters 

to the sea-side home. 
All were there 

the friends, the neighbors; 
They had come 

the dead to bury 
— Father, mother — 

in one grave 

together 
As, slowly, 

from the cottage home 
The bodies of the dead 

were borne 
The postman called 

and left — a letter! 
Ah! then I thought 

the humblest life 

may have its tragedy; 
But is the tragedy itself 

the purpose? 
Is it of one's life 

the ending? 



33 



If it were, - 

there were no meaning 
— neither purpose 
or a meaning — 
in this life at all. 
"No," I said, 

"'tis not the ending 
—End of life 

must be beginning 
of some larger life 

beyond." 
And then for answer 

saw I written 
on another Scroll 

these words: 
"It seems a paradox, 
but we do know 

that such is Life itself; 
Men who coldly dwell 

in science 
Tell us it is 

paradox; 
For "Only as we die 

we live," 
they tell us, 
"And so soon 

as we stop dying, 

we stop living!" 
So one wiser 

than his fellows 
(Long before 

the men of science) 
Spoke the truth 
of living, dying. 
"We die daily," 

were his words 

of wisdom; 



In our living 

—in our growing — 

we are daily dying; 
In our dying 

—in our failing — 

we are stronger growing. 
Then is death 

not death; 
Then is death 

but larger living. 
Life is paradox; 

In life we are in death 
— In death, in life, 

and always 

larger life. 
Then what we know 
as death 

must be more life, 
— It must be 

larger living 
— dying into larger life 
beyond. 

I was back again 

from o'er the waters 
When I read the answer 

to my questioning. 
Now the scene 

was changed; 
And not an echo 

heard I 
Of the sad Refrain 

that haunted me before. 
I wondered much at this 

for sadness fitted well 
My thoughts of tragedy 

and death, 



33 



Upon the breeze there rose 

another melody; 
In it no note of sadness; 
neither gay nor lively 
—only restful, quiet, 

soothing, was it. 
It was moonlight 

calm and peaceful, 
And in list'ning 

to the strains 
all comforting 

I saw this scene: 
Beneath a tree 

on rustic seat 

a maiden sat 

alone. 
A. pensive look 

was in her face, 

and on her knee 

an open book; 
While she read, 

a light flashed 

o'er her face 

As flashes 

o'er the heaven 

Aurora Borealis. 
A writer from the North, 

with vivid insight, 
Had expressed 

his inner soul 

upon the pages 
— this his thought: 

"Congeniality of soul is Love, 

enthusiastic and illumined. 
'Tis a sense profound 

of harmony pervasive; 



'T is not physical 
— it is for both 

a consonance of nature, 
strange, delicious. 
More than half its joy 
is being understood 
in all one's noblest powers; 
What the beloved believes 

the lover is 
As they sound on together 
— these two chords, 
and in embrace 
melodious, 
Reveling in eloquence 

and charm 

and beauty, joy, 
What happy speech 

audacious, 
What glorious heights 

of feeling, 
What flashes rare 

of insight, 
In so being tuned 

octaves above one's self! 
To feel 

in noble woman's soul 
The resonance 

of one's own speech, 
To have returned our thought 
enriched and beautified 
in passing through 
her mind 
—Beatitude is this 
highest of all 

which earth may offer." 



24 



Now the maiden 

laid aside her book 

and fell in reverie. 
Upon a cushion soft 

her head reclined 
and soon she was asleep. 
Anon there came a man 

in happy mood 

low whistling. 
He was looking 

for the maiden 

as it seemed, 
And lovingly 

upon her form he gazed 

and tenderly. 
He softly came 

and, with a scarf, 
He bound her down 

in mock imprisonment. 
And then he sang into her ear 

sweet words of love; 
Softly, at first, he sang, 
as if it were his will 
that she might hear 
while dreaming. 
This the Song 

— the words and melody: 

The joys of this old world 

are many, my darling, 
Of pleasures of life 

I have tasted a few, 
But all that life offers 

though doubled twice over, 
In a balance 

were wanting, love, 

weighed without you. 



25 



This world, my darling, 

were nothinq without you, 
Id give it all up, love, 

and make no ado, 
And take any world 

— any world they might 
give me, 
If only, my darling, 

with it they'd give you. 

Then come to me, darling, 
my own one, 
my dear one, 
The dearest, the sweetest girl 

ever I knew; 
I love you, my darling, 

so truly, so fondly, 
This world were no world 

if it were not for you. 

The breezes so joyously, 

wantonly gay, love, 
Beveled in bliss of a kiss 

as they blew; 
My heart, love, throbbed wildly 
— throbbed jealously wildly — 
Whomever they missed, love, 

H is sure they kissed you. 

I heard the birds singing 

so softly, so sweetly, 
A message they told, love, 

I hold, love, 'twas true, 
And this was the message 

— that some one now loves me; 
That some one, 

my loved one, 

was no one but you. 



I'm going to win you, 

my dear one, 

my sweet one; 
So said one wise bird 

ere away, love, he flew. 
Who sent the sweet message? 

I fondly believe, love, 
'Twas you — you, my darling, 

yes, darling, 't was you. 
Then a wee little, sweet little 

word you might say, love, 
It goes with a kiss, 

won't you give me that, too? 
If you had the asking 

and I had the giving, 
I'd say: "Yes, my darling;" 

now, darling, won't you? 

The maiden wakened 

and she tried to rise 
But found herself pinned down 
by loving hands and hands. 
Methought her not unwilling 

to be prisoner, 
For small the effort 

that she made 
To burst the bands 

so slight, so strong. 
Then did he sing again 

the words of pleading 
— that she come to him; 

Yet were her eyes not open 

and she answered nothing. 
Then he said, again, 

with pleading voice 
and thrilling: 



"With a kiss it goes 

— the word, my darling, 

— say it;" 
And with that 

he took the kiss, 

and unresisted. 

Once again I saw the lover; 
it was moonlight, 

quiet, peaceful. 
He was singing 

with the voice 

of one content. 
Such is the power of love, 

and pleasing to me 

was the picture. 
This his singing 

as I listened: 

Ofor me 
the Stars shine bright 

to-night! 
For me 

the Stars shine bright, 

shine bright; 

My love has plighted troth, 

her troth with mine, 
And all my sky is bright 

to-night. 
The brook, the breeze, 

the flowers, the sky, 
All join 

in sweetest harmony 
To sing of love 

of love so real 
That all the world 

its joy may feel; 



26 



O Star of Hopel 
O Glorious Light! 
O Love of Mine! 
World of Joy! 
For now for me 

the Stars shine bright to-night, 
For me the Stars 

shine bright, shine bright; 
My love has plighted troth — 

her troth with mine — 
And all my sky is bright 

to-night! 

Ah! Yes, I thought, 

what power in Love! 
And thought, 

if aught there were 

in Life 
That might its purpose be — 
its meaning, aye, its end — 
it must he Love. 

Again I saw the lovers 
now betrothed 

in good old fashion; 
They their way 

were wending to the house 
—The same farm dwelling 

that I saw before. 
Then in old-fashioned way, 
the father gave the daughter 
to her lover. 
— They were gone 

— the children — 

from the home 
—All gone, save two 

—the daughter, 



soon to leave 
Upon the arm of him 

who won her love; 
And one — a son, 

who at the homestead stayed, 
Who stayed that they 

who could not leave 
— The father and the mother — 
be not left alone. 
'Tis ever so 

that one must stay 
To bear the burden 

(if, indeed, it be a burden) 
And to comfort, help and cheer 
the ones grown old, 
As they grow older 

and more feeble. 
There is always one 

to stay, 
Who waits 

till all have chosen 
— Till for him, or her, 

there is no choice 
(Save that of love 

and duty); 

Then it is that he 

or she 
Are left to move along 

the way appointed 
(Way that after all may be 

the chosen way). 
Now four were gone from home 
two sons, two daughters; 
To the city 

had they gone 



V7 



— The city 

where the other sister 
Soon, a bride, 

would find her home. 
And there was aching 

in the hearts 

of them now left 
— An aching at the quiet 
of the home, 
the absence 
of the loved ones. 
Gone the songs, 

the merry laughter, 
Cheery voices, 

youthful frolics; 
And in place was thought 

of strugglings, 
Of the serious side of Life 

in the outside world 

of toil. 
But they choked it down 

— their sorrow — 
Did the father, mother, 

brother, 
And they welcomed 

him who came 
To take away the sunshine 
that went out with sister, 
daughter. 
And in cheery tones 

they said: 

"We shall feel 

that we have taken 
To our hearts 

another dear one; 
Not that we away have given 



one that we all love 

so well." 
But their hearts 

their tears, their voices, 
All belied 

this cheery fiction, 
For they knew 

't was going from them 
into other living, doing, 
And to be forever after 
more and more 

from them apart. 
Though they hoped 

that love would linger 

long around them, 
Well they knew 
it was a weaning 

from themselves; 
That they often 

would be hungered 
For the love 

so deep and tender 
That had in their hearts 

been growing 
all the years 
— To go out now, in a moment 
(as it seemed) 

and to a stranger! 

What the claim 

of one so distant 
That it should be 

even stronger 
Than the ties of birth, 

of kinship, 
Or of all the years 

of home? 



88 



But the answer 

is a mystery 
(Though full it be 

of meaning) 
For it has no other reason 
than the mystic tie 

—of Love! 

Again was I 

in Class: 
And youthful 

were the students 
—Youthful, earnest, 

buoyant, 
At the Fount of Knowledge 

thirsting. 
He who struck the Eock 

of Waters 
Was one dreamy, 

introspective, 
And he had for all the people 

of the lowly world 
A feeling sympathetic, 

and most tender. 
His the work to teach 

of Nature, 
Of her secrets, 

of her wonders, 
And they called the subject 

science; 

But I noted 

in his teaching 
He had turned the thought 

of pupils 
From the cold, bare heights 
of Knowledge 



To the deeper, warmer science 
of the human heart 

and need. 
In sympathy I listened 
to the words 

that he was speaking 
as the picture 
came in view: 
"Oh! the tragedy of Life 
— Aye, if you will — , 
of common life. 
'Tis the life of yours 

and mine, 
Of king and priest 

of artist, poet, felon, 
In the world's great mortar 
ground together, 
Melted into liquid mass, 

and by the iron hand 
of one's environment 
new molded 

into personality! 
Are we not one soul 

— both you and I, 
And by the breath 

of circumstance 
but modified 

or re-created? 

Aye, before this tragedy 

of living 
— Its awfulness 

and question — 
How we shiver 

— how to nothingness 

we shrink! 



29 



This surging, palpitating, 

bitter thing 
—We call it Life! 

And if it humble be 

we call it common! 
But we dig beneath 

the surface, 
And we find this thing 

created 
Is a sentient thing 

of meaning. 
Is it common 

when 't is groveling? 
In its very depths 

is tragedy. 

If it silent be 

and helpless, 
If accepted 

without question, 
If without a moan 

endured, 
— All the more severe 

its agony. 

Only He 

who life created 
— He alone can know 

its ending, 
And how incomplete 

the fulness 
Of the common life 

of earth; 
Only He can know 

how helpless 
Who upon the soul 

hath bounded 



The measure of its own 

environment; 
For circumstance, 

as molder 
Of the life of man, 

seems hopeless 
As 't is merciless 

and fateful. 
Oh! the tragedy 

of Life! 
Underneath its commonplace 
all the tragedies 
are found; 
— All the tragedies, the epics, 
oratorios, romances, 
That enchain 

the wildest fancies 

of a world. 
Are they common 
— these the workers 

in the underworld of life? 
True, their toiling 

is for others, 
And for all their 

higher needs 
They themselves 

are destitute. 

Priest and teacher, 

yeoman, laborer, 
Does their toiling 

and their needing, 
Aye, their starving, 

make them common? 
Of poetry and feeling, 

of sentiment and loving, 



30 



Is there any more 

in culture 
Than there is 

in common toil? 

What is poetry 

but Nature, 
"What is sentiment 

but Soul 
"Which all living 

may but broaden, 
"Which no culture 

can create? 

Let us claim our kinship, 

fellows, 
"With this underworld 

of Life; 
Let our hearts with love 

and sympathy 
Throb on and on 

forever 
To the music — rythmic music 

of the spheres eternal; 
And when our eyes 

are brim with tears 
Of sympathy 

and love, 
We shall have 

poetic fancy 
That this world's great heart 
is throbbing 
. with our own; 
We shall have a feeling 

tender 
That we clasp its hand 

in ours. 



Then, knowing we ourselves 

are of the human mass; 

No more our little vanities, 

our common, petty vanities, 
That ill become 
a little part 

of one Great Whole; 
That ill become 
so small a part 

of one Great Soul." 

The picture faded 

and I saw another: 
'Twas a woman; 
— small her face, 

her features pinched 
and pale and thin; 
her eyes near lusterless; 
A look she had 

of one whose life 

was all a weariness 
— a hopeless thing; 
And she to all the world 

was listless, 
As the world of her 

was thoughtless. 
She was one whose face 

seemed void of interest, 
But on second look 

one saw a gleam 
of deeper light 
beneath the surface; 
Then her face took on 
a greater meaning 

— meaning of a Soul. 



31 



'Twas in her home 

and he who was a teacher 
sought an entrance 

at the humble door. 
Surprised the woman was 

until she saw 

That he had come 

on kindly errand bent 

to greet one 
in his service. 
He was of the higher walks, 

a teacher; 
In the undertow of life was she 
— a servant. 
Modest was this home, 

but he— the teacher- 
spoke admiringly 

of all he saw. 
"It is my all 

— this little home," 

the woman said, 
— "For it, and God, 

are all there is in life 

for me." 
"But you have human ties" 

he questioned; 
"Yes," the woman said, 

then paused, 
And o'er her face 

all wrinkled, plain 

and sallow, 
Came a look of patience 

with the pathos in it 

of the Christ; 
"These human ties ain't always 
what they promise; 



When yon work upon 

this tiny kettle, 
You will make it bright 

and shiny, 
And you're sure 

'twill always answer you; 
There's a greetin' here for me 

when home I come; 

'T is more than I can say 
for them I'm workin' for 

and slavin'; 

Not that I am done 

a tryin' for them, 
ISTor sha'n't be 

so long's I'm livin', 
But you've got to do 

a somethin' always 

that will give you rest; 
There's somethin' soothin' 

in the way that nickle's 
shinin' on the stove, 
— Somethin' soothin' 

in the roses 

on them curtains. 

Life ain't brought me 

much of comfort, 
But I'm thankful 

for the soap and water 

and my muscle. 

In the night, 

when I must lie awake 

and think, 
I get to feelin' small 

and good for nothin', 



32 



Then there comes to me 
from somewlieres, off, away, 

a thought of G-od, 
And somehow 

I am comforted to know 
I'm not alone 
In what I've got to do 
and bear." 

And so in common life he found 
both poetry and heroism 
— More than one may find 

sometimes in palaces. 
Ah ! there are heroines 

who know it not, 
Nor does the world remember 

to record their names. 
Nor does it matter 

in the ending; 
In the sunlight everlasting 

of all time, 
No man is great 

nor woman, 
For the hills 

live on forever 
And their shadows 

fall upon their work, 
And lo! their names 

are all forgotten; 
But out from all our lives 

— the little and the big — 
From out the patience 

and the love, and charity, 
Will grow for each 
a Life with beauty 

and a glory all its own. 



— While the teacher 

passed along the way, 
He met a group of girls; 
and noisily, unmaidenly, 
they chattered 

on the street. 

By laughter loud and noisy talk 
was jarred his sense 

of womanhood 
— Of delicacy and refinement 

of true womanhood. 
What to him was there 
in them attractive 

saving their — humanity? 
What to them, he wondered, 

was their life! 
Was it some puzzle strange 
— one that they 
questioned not 
nor understood? 
But even in their chatter 
found he answer 
to his questioning: 
Among them there was one 

of light and springy step 
Whose very presence 

was a cheer to others. 
She had pretty face 

and graceful bearing, 
And her air was self-reliant 

as of one on none dependent. 
Aye, a self-supporting woman 
was this girl 
— all that was she 
and more; 



33 



At home she had 

an ailing mother, 
Bed-confined 

the whole year through, 
And this young girl 

was home provider, 
And the only one 

for all! 

Leaving baby at the nursery 

in the daytime, 
She the whole day long 

would toil outside; 
Her slender earnings 

were the pittance 
That had kept them, 

fed them, clothed them. 
Often had she toiled 

till midnight, 
And at five o'clock 

in morning 
She had risen 

that her mother 
Might have comforts 

for the day. 
IS; or complained 

this gentle maiden 

of her lot in life; 
No self-pity 

cast its shadow 

on her buoyant spirit. 
All the longings of her soul 

for bright things 
and the beautiful, 
All higher needs 

of pleading heart, 



Beneath the heavy 

iron heel of circumstance 
were these crushed out; 
But silent was the girl 

and uncomplaining. 

Again the teacher was in Class, 
and spoke of what he saw 
among the lowly: 

"Not in battle, 

to the drum-beat, 

is all human striving; 
Not in crowds, for only glory, 

find we all the heroes; 
Nor is man the only hero; 
in the mother 
and the daughter 

is the fire heroic often, 
And 'tis greater, 

aye, and grander, 
When 'tis silent 

and pathetic, 
In these heroines 

inglorious 
Whose exploits 

are not sung. 
Much we hear 

of women sheltered 
And by manly arms 

protected; 
'Save her,' they oft tell us; 

'Let us save her 
From the wintry blasts 
of toiling 

— for her bread; 



34 



I 



All too fragile she, 

for coping 
In the world outside 

with man.' 

So it is to please this fancy, 

— for this sentimeno ideal — 
Men would shut her out 
from working 
— for her bread! 
But it seemeth not in keeping 
with our progress 

and her need, 
To say 'Nay' 

to her own toiling 

for her need of bread, 
Her need for self 

or for the others 

that on her may be 
dependent! 
Widened be her range, 

not narrowed; 
Larger be her field 

for toiling, 
If of choice 

more scope it give her 
to provide herself 
with bread. 

Is she handicapped 

by Nature 
All too little 

for our liking, 
That, as men, 

we would make harder 
All the struggling 

she must do, 



And from which 

we would not save her, 
Or in which 

we do but hinder? 
Must we add 

to those of Nature 

other burdens for 

her bearing 
That are heavy 

and more heavy; 
And deny her right of having 
more of place and hope, 
and chances; 
Less of comfort 

than her need is, 

less than is her right 

to claim; 
Less than has 

the gentle woman 

thought of asking 

of the world? 

Shall we, 

by our force and power, 
all she asketh 
still deny her? 
Nay, my brothers, 

let us hasten, 

and concede to her 

(in reason) 

Even more than she desireth 
in her modest sense of need, 

Even more than she doth ask us 
in her modest sense of right! 

In the lives of women, 

is the truest heroism. 



35 



What we call, in men, heroic 
oft is noisy, loud, obtrusive, 
claiming for itself 
all praise; 
But, in woman, 

't is unconscious, 
though sublime 

and all pathetic; 
And no thought of it has she, 

whose habit is to drift. 
When one braver, of her sex, 

moves out alone, 
Then only has she thought 
of merit in her sacrifice 

and daily toil. 
Man it is forever ready 

to accept that sacrifice; 
His name for it is duty 

— not a thing for praise 
or wonder! 
Yet there is 

in lives of mothers, 
More than in the 

lives of men, 

true heroism! 
O our mothers! 

O our mothers! 
Only when the clod 

has fallen 
On that face the fairest, 

sweetest, 
Do we know 

the fuller meaning 
Of the subjugation rare 

of self— that self 
angelic! 



O our mothers! 

God forgive us! 
God forgive 

the sons of men 
For their sins 

against the mothers 

— for ingratitude, 
neglect. 
Would I had 

a devil's mirror — 
One wherein each man 

might see 
All his weakness 

and his meanness, 

his conceit and selfish sin! 
For the sake of one so lovely, 

one so tender and so true, 
He would ever yield to woman 
all she asks 

— aye, grant her more. 
All for sake of her 

who bore him, 
All for her — the woman 

— Mother. 
— She who is (among all heroes) 
of God's heroines 

the Queen. 

Now, again, the picture faded, 
and again I saw 

the Highway, 
And that throng forever moving 
— always moving on. 
Again I heard the music 

— music low and weird 

and plaintive— 



36 



Music of that, sad Refrain 
that had burdened me 

before. 
And I said: 
"Is Life the meaning 
of this picture 

strange and vivid, 
Of this throng— this panorama 
never ceasing in its moving 
in the Highway— all along? 

But, it seemed that, 

if a journey, 
Life was more 

(though often less); 
'T was a Eace 

and 't was a Battle, 
And in every Bace and Battle, 
woman had a share 
with man. 
Yes, I saw that in the Battle 
— even there 

she must combat, 
And not only with the woman 
was her striving, 
but with man! 
She had there 

a need to combat 
For the rights of man 

and woman 
— For the rights of self 
and others! 
And I saw that in the Races 

she competed, 
And the prizes 

of the Life-Course 



Were not hers 

except she won them 
— she herself! 
I saw that when she struggled 

for her need 
— (For her very bread, 

it might be), 
"When she battled 

for her rights 
— (For her very life, 

it might be), 

She was weaker in her make-up, 

in her armor, her equipment, 

than her brother. 

Then I saw that in her striving 

in the Races 

She was handicapped by Nature 

and by custom 
— Even more by art and fashion 
than by Nature! 
Then I wondered 

of the fairness 
— What the purpose 

and the meaning 
Of the struggling 

and the striving, 
Of the battling and competing 
being harder for the woman 
than for man! 
Although I found no answer, 
came the thought 
that seemed all plain: 
Nature's word 

is not our saying, 
And we may not change 

the law; 

37 



It must be 

as Nature wills it 
—And we say 

that there is in it 
Purpose good 

and some large meaning; 
But no man 

for sake of fashion, 
Art or custom, 

or his pleasure, 
Has fair right 

to weaken woman, 

Handicap or halt 

her moving, 
Make her striving, struggling, 

harder, 
Make her tears more hot, 

more hitter, 
Make her path more thorns 

than roses, 
Make her suffer 

his unwisdom, 
Sacrifice her for his pleasure 

or his gain! 

Once more the farm-house 

came in view 
And there was sign 

of many guests 
and joyous greetings. 
All were there 

— the sons and daughters 
[Relatives 

and friends invited. 
This the day that she 

— who to her heart 



Had welcomed happy lover 

— she herself had named 
To say "Good Bye" 

to her old home 

to her old world, 
And enter one all new 

and strange 
But full of promise 

of a life of bliss. 

Now I saw that she 

who of her will 

became a wife 
Was of them all 

the eldest 
And her name 

was — Rachel. 
And I saw 

that of her sisters 
One there was whose name 

was— Yashti. 
And I saw that she 

who stood beside the bride 
as maid 
Was sister of the bridegroom 
and her name was — Edith. 

Of the boys, 

the one who stayed at home 
was John; 

One, who had liking for the city 
greater than his love 
for country homestead 

-he was Albert. 
But to me the strangest 

of all else was this; 



38 



That she who had been 
leader of the girls 
who held the Scroll 

was— Vashti; 
And that Kuth, her sister, 
was of those who aided her 
— one of her following. 
Now I was glad 

when I saw Vashti, 
For to me was Yashti pleasing 
more than all the others, 
More than any I had seen 

before in all my days! 
On second thought 't is this 

and this alone 
That was the strangest far 
of all that I had seen 

this night 
— 'T is this, 

that I thought Vashti 

of them all the best! 
Yet, why so strange? 

For she was beautiful 

of soul and face; 
And she was one 

who could be brave, 
who could be true; 
One who could love another 

well and dearly; 
Yet who never would forget 

herself 
(And this were well, 
for she herself was 

worthy of remembrance 
by all others 

— and herself). 



Now they stood, and grouped 

in pretty fashion; 
Of them all the bride 

the center. 
He who wedded her 

was nearest, 
And he held her hand 

in his. 
Then when the man of God 

was ready to pronounce 
The words 

to bind what man 

may put asunder 
never, 
He — the bridegroom — 

to the maiden sang: 
maiden fair, 

my love for thee 
Is like the surge 

of swelling sea, 
Nor time nor tide 

more changeless be 
Than is my love, fair maid, 

for thee, 
maiden fair! 

Then all the younger men 

and maidens sang, 
As if in glad 

refrain: 
Than is his love, 

fair maid, to thee, 
maiden fair! 
Again he sang — the lover— 
and they all responding 

as before: 



39 



maiden fair, 

I come to thee 
With heart unfettered, 

glad and free, 
To take thy hand 

and ask of thee 
Thy precious maiden love 

for me, 
maiden fair! 

O maiden fair, 

though it may be 
Nor wealth nor fame 

I offer thee, 
Full measure 

of felicity 
My heart's deep love 

doth promise thee, 
O maiden fair! 
Then sang the maidens 

standing near: 
O maiden fair, 

we wish for thee 
A life of joy 

— from sorrow free, 
That all thy days 

unclouded be — 
This is our wish, sweet maid, 
for thee, 
maiden fair! 

Then, while the pastor 

spoke the words of binding 
(Spoke in tender voice, 
as one solicitous 

for all the future 

of a child his own), 



The lover sang, alone: 

maiden fair, 

I give to thee 
This emblem 

of Eternity 
And pledge for aye 

fidelity 
To thee, O maiden fair, 

to thee, 
O maiden fair! 

O maiden fair! 
To thee, my own, 

My wife, to thee 

1 pledge life-long 

fidelity, 
woman fair, my wife, 

to thee, 
O woman fair! 

And then the others sang, 
while he, now husband, 

took the kiss — his own: 
To thee, woman fair, 

to thee, 
His pledge 

life-long fidelity, 
woman fair, and wife, 

to thee, 
Fidelity life-long 

to thee, 
woman fair, and wife, 
to thee, 
O woman fair! 

But, ere again I sought 
one other glance at Vashti, 
Vashti fair — so fair to me, 



40 



The picture "faded 

and I felt like one alone 

and sorrowful; 
And all the more 

when to my ear came back 
that same sweet, 
sad Kefrain. 

Again I was in Class 

— a woman was the teacher: 
"Thoughts are things," 

she said, 
"A creation of your spirit 

is your thought. 
"Tis force and power 
— is thought 

and 'tis eternal. 
Of yourself your thought 

is part; 
And what you think to-day 

is your new self. 
You may wonder 

but 't is true 
That what we wear 

—our very clothes- 
Absorb our thought 

— our very thought. 

Now if my cast-off thought 

of time gone by 
Has been of anger, 

irritation or unrest, 
My old-time clothes 

my vicious thought absorbed, 
And I that thought 

may re-absorb. 



Let men not seek companionship 

with their dead selves; 
Far better 'tis 

to seek deliv'rance . 
from the body 

of our death. 
In all her moods 

is Nature prodigal, 
In casting off the old, 

the lifeless; 
— In bestowal on her creatures 

of the fulness of new life: 
The horns of deer drop off; 

the serpent skins drop off; 
The hairs of beast, 

the feathers of the bird 

drop off: 
All fresh and new 
as manna 

from the hand of God 
Are plumages and downy furs 

and tints of flower. 
Lilies of the field toil not, 

nor do they spin. 
Yet are arrayed 

in beauty. 
Shall man alone be unadorned, 

shall he alone 
Be undelivered 

(in due time and season) 
From the old, dead body 

of his older self? 
Nature will not wear 

old clothes worn out; 
Her birds build new their nests, 
her flowers renew their youth; 



41 



Man, who may toil and spin, 
and fashion wonders 
rare and beautiful, 
Has hint from lower life 

how he may be arrayed 
In all the glory 

of his power creative. 
Then, shall man 

drag through his life 
Down-loaded with the weight 

of years cast off? 
Shall man load down himself 

with garb of poverty, 
Of rags of thought 

—of old, dead life? 
lS T ay, poverty is not religion, 

nor monotony a virtue; 
If one teaches aught so ill 

it is not ISTature; 
He who clothed the lily 

gave thee power 

to clothe thyself; 
The color of the lily 

is expression of its life; 
The dress of thine 

expression is (in part) 
of thine own larger life 
— thy spirit. 

Youth is newness 

in the spirit and in body; 
Youth is freshness, strength 

and growth; 
Youth is joyous, playful, 
and it revels 

in the joys of health, 
of hope, of Life. 



Youth has love of dress, 

of color, music, 
beauty, pleasure, 
And it casteth out all fears, 

all doubt. 
And this is well 

— 'tis intuition 

all unconscious. 
One may come to have 

no love for dress, 
May come to take no pride, 

no pleasure, in adornment. 
One may come to have 

no joy in life, 
And no delight 

in ways of youth 
— in living. 
One may say 

that youth has passed, 
With all its joys, 

its hopes, its pleasures, 
— gone forever. 
One may set his face 

out towards the setting sun 
And think of Life 

as sombre, sad, 
Of youth as fleeting, 

and to end in shadow 

— cheerless, hopeless. 
When 't is come to this, 

O man, 
'Tis sign of waning, 

and thou art thyself 

inviting— death! 
If thou lose thy hope, 

thy faith, 



If thou turn thy face 

unto the wall, 
It will mean decay 

and death. 
Such is not the choosing 

of the better way; 
Thou may'st hold thy youth 
and challenge all advancing 
of the years. 
Will within thyself to rise 
and thou shalt upward move 
and forward. 

Now as to color: 
Choose not black 

for robing: 
It is badge of hopelessness 

of ending — death. 
Aye, choose thee colors 

that have warmth and light. 
For emblem, 

if it be for Life 
(Or that thou callest death), 

choose naught but white. 
For thou indeed hast choice, 
If so it be thy will 
to choose. 
And more, if so it be 

thy Spirit willeth, 
Thou may'st have thy body 

fitly clothed. 
Then will to have the right, 

the best, 
Aye, will, and it shall come 

to thee. 
Do thou demand it 

in thy mind and strongly: 



It will come to thee 

through asking, 
It will come to thee 

by seeking, 
Or by knocking 

at the opening door, 

and rinding. 
'Tis the law 

that unto him that hath 

shall more be given; 
But if one hath not, 

from him shall taken be 

that which he hath. 
Hold fast thine own, 

and thou shalt have 

and hold. 
So think it not 

of little care, 

the body; 
Thou may'st even love it 

as the dwelling 

of the Soul. 
Think of it as temple 
for the spirit 

in it dwelling. 
Shall it be neglected? 
Rather shall it be 
kept beautiful 

and fitly clothed. 
But only as thy soul within 
is beautiful 

will thy body be. 
Only will thy body 

be a fitting temple 

when 'tis fitly kept 
and robed. 



Only as thou lovest life 

shall life be thine, 

or stay with thee; 
Therefore, be not careless, 
hopeless, 

in thy mind; 
For that were courting death, 

't were dying. 
Be not even slovenly 

in dress, 
For that itself 

is sign of dying, 

not of Life." 
Then she paused, 

and, after, said: 
"Now I would tell thee 

something more of dress. 
Note the dress 

of men you meet, — 
One may be dressed 

in manner foppish; 
Everything he wears 

proclaims aloud, and noisily, 
(as from the house-top) 
That with him 

the all in all 

is dress; 
It is his life, 

it is with him, 

the end and purpose all 

of life. 
One is dressed 

in slouchy manner; 
What he wears 

betokens chance. 
Be it this, or that, or other, 

— naught it matters; 



Come, or go, 

'tis wind, or weather; 
— This his thinking 

as to dress 
— It may be, 

as to his life the same. 
One must say 

that life and purpose 
arc not dress; 
But the one of slouchy habit 

questions, by his dress; 
Is there purpose, 

is there even life, 

— is it not all chance; 
Is there plan or meaning 

in it all? 
If there be in Life a purpose; 
if there be in Life 

a meaning; 
It were seemly 

that one s dress 
Should speak of order, 

purpose, fitness. 

— Again, we sec 

one dressed not slouchy. 

but all careless; 
And the manner of his wearing, 
more than what he wears, 
betokens mental habit. 
Life too purposeful to him 
(it seemeth) 

for much thought 

of dress; 
'Time is fleeting, 

work is pressing, 
let us to our tasks away. 



44 



Let it be for dawdlers, 

idlers, 
Let it be for men 

(or women) 
Having neither work 

nor knowledge, 
Having little care 

for either; 
— Let it be for these 

to dress, 
Not for him of busy brain, 
whose heart and hands 

are full; 
Not for him whose life is short 

—too short for all his need!' 
Thus he sings, 

in gloomy measure, 
Sings as if he knew 

the meaning, 
— Knew how short, how long 

his life, 
Knew the point 

of ending! 
High his motive, 

large his purpose, 
We may say of him 

who reasons thus of dress 

and of our life; 
But he faileth 

when he thinketh 
That our life 

hath naught of living 

in the ever present; 
Naught of joy 

and comfort, pleasure, 

as we journey on; 



That our present 

is as nothing 
To some purpose, 

or some doing, 
Of some time. 

in some far future! 
He may find 

some counter meaning 
in the saying 

of the Teacher: 
Take no thought 

of the to-morrow 
(Though it meaneth not 
to teach us 
to be merry, 
eating, drinking, 
Knowing that we die 

to-morrow). 
Dress as one 

who lives to-day, 

to-morrow — ever; 
Lives not now alone, 

to-morrow dying; 
Lives not only 

when to-morrow cometh; 
But now lives, 

will live to-morrow, 

will live alway, 

live forever. 
Dress thou for the hour, 

the day, 
And fitting for thy 

present need. 
Make thy dress 

a part (not all) 

thy purpose. 



45 



Dress for comfort, 

for enjoyment; 
Dress for pleasure 

— for thine own 

and others. 
Is there not of purpose, 

and all worthy, 

in so doing? 
Much it seemeth so to be 

to me. 
— Let thy dress he suited 

to thyself, thy person, 
To thy work and to thy need, 

and mood. 
Let it be thy mood alway 

that dress become thee, 
That it be adapted 

to thy personality, 
To thy position, 

and the place thou boldest. 

What of Fashion'? 

She will have 

her saying; 
And, within the limits, 

(bounds of reason,) 
Thou may'st heed 

her mandate; 
For conspicuous 

thou desirest not to be 
— nor hast thou need. 
Except at call of martyrdom, 
(from which one prays 
that he be spared.) 
Who would, or need 

defy that mandate? 



Nay, to thy departure 

from the crowd 
Wouldst thou not fix 

a limit? 
Yea, thou needest not 

to grovel with the herd; 
Nor, like the hermit, 

dwell alone; 
Nor even with the wings 

fly foolishly. 
Give Fashion place, 

but not control; 
Thyself art Fashion, 

if thou wilt; 
For Fashion is the whole, 

and of the whole 
thou art some part; 
So thou (in measure) 

may'st thyself control 
the fashion. 

Fashion changeth? 

Aye, and thou; 
For thou art ever changing 

and thyself becoming new; 
For thou shalt newer be to-day 
than yesterday; 
And surely thou 

shalt newer be to-day 
Than was of yesterday 

some other man or woman. 
He was of the past 

— a past now gone 

and dead. 
But thou art of the present, 
of to-day 
— the living present. 



4G 



Shall the whole world 

change? 
— Shall old things pass away 

and all be new, 
Save that alone which is above, 
beyond all other things 
— save man himself 
or woman? 
More, shall all be changed 
— save that pertaining 

to the woman only? 
Sliall it be her dress 

(and it alone) 
That shall be fixed, 

unchangeable, 
— And all the rest 

be new? 
This question comes 

with reason, 
For there are whose answer 

makes it lifting. 
This my answer: 

Of the rights (though few) 

of woman, in the past, 

One right was hers undoubted 

— hers conceded; 
(Nay, say men, 

't was more than right of hers 
— 't was weakness). 
It was right to change 

— the weakness 

to be fickle. 
Cramped, or bounded, 

tied, restricted, 

As to rights, 

or ways of working: 



She could always 

changeful be, or fickle, 
as her mood had need. 
Her dress could be chameleon 

as her fancy pleased her. 
Now to bound, or bind, 

her fancy, 
Or to limit 

her desire, 
One thing only 

was there ever, 
And that one thing 

was that strange thing 
That we sometimes call 

Queen Fashion 
— She whose fiat 

was to woman 
Stronger far 

than rhyme or reason 

(as it seemed)! 

Now, if Fashion, 

and the fancy 

of the woman, 
Call for change 

(and change more striking 
than before) 
Who shall hinder, 

who deny her 
That which was 

her right conceded 
— Right to choose or change 

her garment, 
Right to choose 

a way of robing 

to her liking? 



Sayest thou 

it must become her, 

her apparel? 
True, we answer, 

for a fashion unbecoming 
to her beauty 
— lovely woman! — 
Is a sin 

'gainst man and Nature. 
(Yet, it is a sin that woman 
hath committed 

— often, often; 
'T was her Queen 
— the Queen called Fashion 
who compelled this sin, 
O woman!) 
But when man 

disliked a fashion, 
Only had he right 

of protest, 
And 't was ever 

right of woman 
(Eight conceded, 

as I see it), 
To move on, 

in line with Fashion, 
Always at her own 

sweet will. 
Then the man 

had need of patience 
— patience only 

for a while; 
Not so long 

till to his liking 

she would come 
of her accord. 



Aye, she would come, 

O charming woman! 
For she loves the man 

— does woman, 
And of her own will 

would please him, 
By her beauty, 

by her dress. 
But, one sayeth, 

lines of freedom 

for the woman 

are laid down; 
Wide though be 

her range of choosing 
— how to robe 

her form divine, 
Yet her dress must be 

not man's dress; 
She must stay 

within the lines 
Laid down by custom, 

and by Nature long ago! 
True, but man 

may be in error, 
If lie draw the lines 

for woman, 
For her dress 

(or for aught else). 
For himself he had 

his choosing. 
And he chose 

to suit his need; 
Chose to suit his taste, 

his liking, 
Nor had woman 

aught to say! 



48 



When he made the change 

that woman 
Now is making 

for herself, 
No one questioned him 

the choosing, 
No one said him 

yea, or nay. 
Who shall say 

the dress is fitting 
That he for himself 

hath chosen; 
—That 't is modest, proper, 

right? 
Petticoats 

were once his wearing; 
'Twas a change 

when he wore leggings 
— When he doffed 

the woman's gown! 
Who shall say 

it were not better 
That the man 

still wear that gown? 
Or that leggings 

are for woman 

not more modest 

than for man? 
Who shall say that gowns 

are modest, 
— Always modest, 

—ever modest 
— Ever fitting, 

proper, right; 
Be they for the man 

or woman 



— For their duties, 

for their work; 
Or for their forms 

as Nature made them? 
That they trail 

through mud and spittle, 
That they trip 

— are cause of stumbling, 
That they blow 

beyond controlling 
In the playful wind 

(and shocking), 
That they fit not 

storm and weather, 
— These are faults 

mayhap not greatest 
In this dress, 

this gown — the skirt! 
For the drawing-room 

they're fitting, 
There they have a charm 

their own, 
(Aye, better there 

than in the streets 
are gowns;) 
But if for riding, 

or for wheeling, 
— Who would welcome them 

of will? 

Is then man by Nature ever 
forced to halt 
at faulty lines; 
And his progress 

toward perfection 
to be stayed 

in one thing only? 



49 



Is he always, 

through all ages 
— Through all ages 

yet unborn, 
In one thing 

(and one thing only) 
to be stayed 
in statu quo? 
Is the costume 

of the human 
— Not of man, 

but of the woman— 
The one thing 

in all of Nature 
That can have 

no aid of science, 
That from art 

or from invention 
May not have 

some help or hint; 
But must now, 

and all years coming 
—Must alone, 

of all things needful, 
Stop far short 

of nice perfection? 
From what law, 

divine or human, 
From what law, 

revealed or written, 
Is there rule 

or is there reason 
That shall say 

of some old custom, 
Or some practice, 

or proceeding, 



It shall be forever sacred 
from all change 

and innovation, 
Though the need 

of man or woman 

may cry out in agony 
for change? 

If the men, or if the women, 
choose to make such law 
by fiat, 
Let them make it, 

not for others, 
But, far better, for themselves 
— themselves alone. 
Let them not, 

in mood so generous, 
Make it only 

for the others 
— Others who a law would be 

unto themselves! 
Know you that a higher ruling 

governs you and governs me, 
Governs man 

and governs woman, 
And it stronger is than fiat, 
than the men in all creation, 
or the women; 
And no age 

may boast of progress 
Till that law be over others 

— over and above; 
Now that law 

which is the higher, 
Which should be 

on all men binding, 

and all women, 



is the La*w of Liberty 

or the Perfect Law. 
'But if woman — lovely woman, 

choose to dress like man; 
— How may we discern 

between them 
— How— Oh! how 

— know — them —apart! 
Well expressed, 

by halting question, 
is your horror 

at the thought; 
It is calamity most serious, 

and its coming we may dread 
As we may dread 

the coming winter, 
As the ague, or a fever, 

as an avalanche, or cyclone, 
epidemic, or a bore, 
and the toothache, 
As we dread the thing it is 

— a revolution! 

Yes, we dread 

a thing so fearful, 
That like man 

shall be the woman, 
And, (like babes 

all mixed together,) 

all identity be lost! 
But, we wonder, 

where is Nature 
that she idly 

stays her hand! 
Has she naught to say 

in protest? 



Can she nothing do to hinder 

this calamity so dreadful? 

Where is Man himself, 

we wonder, 
Is there naught 

within Ms power, 
Such calamity of evil 

to forbid? 

Has it come (or is it coming), 
that between 

the man and woman 
There is naught, 

(nor will be ever,) 

— naught to know 
the two apart; 
Naught that is 

of Nature's doing, 
Naught that is not 

artificial, 
— Nothing save some tag, 

or covering 
— Save some marking, 

or the dress? 

Nay, I know 

we are too fearful 

of her resource, 

of her power; 
And, until they 

be exhausted 
—All the resources 

of Nature — 
Needless will be 

our alarm. 
Much I fear, that half the evil 
is not that the little woman 



Is too much— too much 

like man; 
But that man, 

more than he might be, 
More than he has been 

of old time, 
Is himself, too much 

— like woman! 
Once there was 

a badge of manhood 
—Nature-given, striking, 

flowing; 
'Twas man's pride, 

his strength, his marking, 
As a man among all men, 

a man among all women. 

When he took an oath 

most solemn, 
Always swore he 

by this badge, 
And indignity was greater 

to this badge than to all else. 
For this badge 

has woman ever 

had some liking 

(more or less) 
And the woman oft admires it, 
— even loves it, 

(as her own). 
But her liking, and her loving, 
is in seeing it 
in place; 
It would fill her soul 

with horror, 
If it grew 

on her own face! 



It may nestle there 

(a season), 
She may claim it 

as her own, 
But to have this badge 

by growing, 
And to be enforced 

to wear it 
— This would be 

her pet aversion! 
In this realm 

— this realm his own, 
Man has always from intrusion 
by all women 

been secure; 
And the future has no danger 
in this right 

— man's right alone, 

Woman sweet 

no beard is growing! 
— She for it has shown 

no liking; 
Yet has man 

by constant shaving, 
Sought to lose his pride, 

his birthright; 
Sought to rob himself 
(the master) 
of this badge 
of his distinction; 
Sold it for some 

mess of pottage 

— pottage of some 

passing fancy.; 
Lost it to some freak 

of Fashion; 



—That he might 

(in shameless habit) 
Have a face all smooth 

like woman's! 
Nor has woman 

e'er protested; 
Though it were 

well in her right, 
To object to man's intrusion 

>on her own domain, 
Her domain 

by right of Nature! 
If unforced, 

and for no reason, 
(For no reason 

that we know,) 
Man his badge 

has thus discarded, 
'Tis his doing, 

and his only, 
'Twas no fault 

of lovely woman 
If man lack some mark 

of Nature, 
If he doff some trait 

she gave him, 
And there be no sign 

to show him 
To be man 

(and not a woman); 
'T is his right a tag to carry 

that may save him 

from the hardship, 
From the ridicule, or folly, 

misery, contempt, 

(or shaming,) 



Of his being sometimes taken 

for a— woman ! 
And we women 

all are willing 
That he have one 

— one to suit his whim, 

or fancy. 
Let it be a string, or garment, 

or a color, all his own; 
Let him have 

an ear or nose ring v 
Or a cape, or cloak, or knee-cap, 
or a baby's rattle. 
His the choice 

and his the comfort, 
Give the boy 

his needed pleasure. 
— If he cannot 

make his hair grow 
Where, in ages past, 

it grew, 
When the man 

in pride and power 
By his beard 

did all his swearing, 
(And the man, in all the ages 
did the swearing 
for the race,) 
He, perhaps, 

may grow still balder, 
And by all his hair 

off -shaving, 
So unlike be 

to the woman 
That we'll know 

when we shall see 

53 



Her Crown of Glory 

on her head, 
— That we'll know 

by all things lovely 
— lovely and of 

good report, 
That she is a woman only 

— nothing like a man at all! 
Then we'll know 

whene'er a being 
With no glory crown at all 
comes within the range 

of vision. 
That a man it is 

— not woman, 
Or a thing, 

for lack of wording 
— Lack of any better naming, 

we may call — a man! 

It were well, 

so say we ever, 
That between the man 

and woman 
There shall be a range 

of difference 
As by Nature 

'twas intended; 
But, we ask, 

in honest question, 
Is it not the will of Nature 
that this difference 
be in person 
—not in dress? 
If the range be all too narrow 
for the need of man 
or woman, 



Can it be because of woman 
having made advance 

inhuman, 
— Far beyond the lesser progress 
made by man? 
Has the inconsiderate woman 
so been narrowing 

between them 
The wide range 

erstwhile existing 
That his manhood's pride 

is hurt? 
If this be the evil pending, 
what the cure 

— in what the ending? 
Shall we stay 

the woman's progress 
— stay it short other desire, 
That the man 

may stop advancing 
— Stop far short 

of his own power? 

Nay, a better way is open 

— one more seemly, 

fair and just; 
Let them both 

— the man and woman- 
Have free course 

— full right of moving; 
Let them each and both 

make progress, 
Full within their powers 

and need. 
Let no need of one alone, 
(and far more 
no need imagined,) 



5i 



Halt the progress 

of the other. 
What if in the movement 

onward 
Toward the summit 

of desire, 
Woman shall make progress 

rapid, 
And between herself 

and brother, 
Lessen the wide range, 

and make it of the past! 

Be it so, 

if man's ambition 
Hath made failure 

in his moving, 
By his lesser progress making, 
stopping short 
of his own powers. 
Better far than holding woman 
back within her powers 

and need, 
Is to man the stimulation 

of her closer following. 
Even better that to woman 

right be given 
To make progress 

as she liketh, 
Than that she be checked 

and hampered 
In the hope of good to man 

from her own sacrifice 

of self. 
Now, the teacher 

who so well (I thought) 

had spoken for her sex, 



In championship 

of right to dress at will, 
Of right to 

be a law unto themselves, 
Of right to liberty, 

the perfect law for all. 

—Now this teacher 
and her Class 

passed out from view. 

In place I saw 

a stage and players, 

and the play was comedy. 
Now in review there passed 
before mine eyes 

a long procession, 
As of people who had lived 

in ages gone, 
And who were wearing 

costumes of their day, 
They who wore 

the newer costumes 
Of the days 

in which they lived, 
Would find the fashions 
of the older days 
grotesque and strange. 
And these, in turn, 

their day would pass, 
And those of later day 

would find their dress 
As odd and strange 

as was the other! 
In her royal robes, 
upon a throne, 

there sat one like a queen; 



53 



And she by all 

was called a queen 

her name, Queen Fashion. 
All who passed 

in turn before her 

she would closely scan, 
And she would smile 

on them who pleased her, 
And on others 

she would frown. 
There was something 

in her smile 
That caused a thrill 
of happiness 
in those who won it; 

But her frown, it seemed, 

made sorrowful all hearts 
Far more than her rare smile 

made glad, 
And Fashion 

was a fickle queen, 
For she would frown to-day 
on something she erstwhile 
had smiled upon, 
And smile on what erstwhile 

she frowned upon! 

Now, all, or nearly all, 

of men and women 
(more the women) 
Were the willing slaves 

of Fashion; 
And to win her smile, 

(so sweet it was,) 
Or miss her frown, 

(a frown severe and hurting,) 



These her subjects 

made all willing sacrifice. 
Some there were (it seemed) 

who had no other purpose, 
Found in life 

no other pleasure, 
Than the happiness 

of winning 
From their Queen 

her sunny smile 
— Her frown avoiding 

(but they were the few). 
Only glimpses had I 
of the scenes 
(as of a play in progress). 
At the first, the women 

dressed in roomy skirts; 
And when they danced 

they were as tops inverted, 
Gliding, spinning, 

o'er the surface of the floor. 
All outspread and flaring, 

was the bottom of the skirt, 
As if a hoop, or wheel, 
were hidden 
in the lower, nether folds, 
Environing the dress within 
— the dress within 
and wearer. 
Came there then upon the scene 
first one, and then another, 
Having doffed the roomy skirts, 
and donned 

for other robing, 
Dress all clinging 

to their forms 



56 



— Their forms of beauty 

closely clinging. 
Fashion frowned 

on these new-comers. 
Then the others, 

(who were sweeping 
fuller circles 

on the floor,) 
Looked askance 

and showed displeasure, 
Crying, 'Shame, 

'tis so immodest!' 
But I saw 

that time made smaller 
these diameters of base; 
And to have them even smaller, 
all the hoops 

were dropped at last! 

Much the change 

was to my liking, 
For it seemed 

(in my own thinking) 
More than clinging dress 

of woman 
Did the bell-shaped skirt 
of Fashion 
mar her form 

of beauty. 
Then there came 

a talk of changing 
Back to "crinoline" 

(they called it), 
For the queen was prone 

to frowning 
On this pleasing dress of woman 
(pleasing, as it was to me). 



Then there came 

who braved the frowning, 
And refused to welcome 

changing, 
These, by ridicule and satire, 
led the Queen to frown upon it 
— on the crinoline at last! 
There were jokes and jibes 

in plenty, 
There was laughter, jeering, 

singing, 
Till the frown of Fashion 

ended 
All the fear 

of coming harm. 
Of the Songs 

that most did please me, 
Was this one 

that follows: 

Dear Lady Crinoline, 

as in a dream 
I see thee move along 

the polished floor 
With grace and beauty 
in everg step, 
As once — ourfailiers say — 
you did of yore. 

I count the rows of flounces 
on your shirt, 
From one, to twenty-one, 
each wider grown 
Than that above 

— like ripples on a pool 
When agitated 

by a pebble thrown. 



57 



You had, I know, 

a wealth of witchery, 
But men retreated 

as you forward stepped, 
For there was that about you 
that forbade 
Familiar greet 
— so they their distance kept. 
And yet 1 would not 

call you back again 
Through these dim years, 
though sweet -t would be 
I ween; 
1 would not tempt you 

tread our sphere again, 
All-filling, widening, 

spinning Lady Crinoline. 

Now in this Comedy I saw 

that men were riding 

on a wheel; 
(But other pattern was it 
than the wheels 

whereon the girls 

had ridden 
When they carried 

in their hands 

the Scroll). 
Wide and bigh 

the forward wheel 

and small the other; 
And it seemed 

that wondrous skill 

was needed 
Lest the wheeler fall, 

and from a dizzy height 

of danger! 



And I saw that, 
finding danger in the skirting 
of the leggings, 
Some were dressed 

in older fashion, 
Where the leggings 

always ended at the knees, 
And joining there 

with tops of stockings. 

Now I saw that Fashion 

had not smiled 
On innovation 

such as this, 
And wearers were derided 
— often hooted 

on the street; 
Till, at last, the Queen relented 
and the men had chance 
thereafter 
— Chance to wear 

the safer garments, 
At their will 

and unmolested. 

Then I saw 

the wheel was changed 
And saw the woman 

mounting it, 
And finding in its running 
much of pleasure, 

much of joy. 

Nor wondered I to see it, 
for it seemed 

a useful pleasure 
—Aye, a tempting sport 

and glorious. 



58 



Now the Queen 

was loath to smile 
Upon this wheeling 

by the woman; 
But ere long she yielded 

gracefully, 
And made the sport 

her own — 
(For this 

was Fashion's way of doing 
—fickle Fashion). 

Then a danger 

seemed to threaten; 
For the skirts 

of woman's wearing 
Were entangled oft in riding, 

and the gentle rider thrown; 
(For the danger to the skirting 
of the leggings 

of the man, 
Was as naught 

to woman's danger 
in the skirting 

of her gown). 
Then I saw that woman 

wondered 
Why she could not doff 

the skirting, 
As the man had done 

before her, 
To avoid her greater danger 

in her wider-skirting dress. 
And her wondering 

and her thinking 

led her out at last, 
to doing, 



And, lo! emerged the woman 
as I saw her, in my Vision 
— on the wheel! 

Now glad was I in seeing 

all this striking innovation; 
For I thought 

the knell was sounded 
now forever for the wheel; 
—Not the wheel 

that she was riding, 
Without skirt, 

or flowing flounces, 
But the one she'd worn 

in flounces 
— One which swept the floor 

and pavement, 
Or the wheel, or hoop, 

called "crinoline!" 
—But I saw 

the Queen was frowning, 
And of women, 

some were pouting, 
While the men (and boys) 
were hooting 
At this newest change 

of Fashion, 
And they called it 

innovation; 
As if change of fashion always 
(crinoline to closer skirting) 
were not startling 

innovations 
— Be they good, or be they ill, 
at the time 

the women make them 
(or the men). 



59 



But I saw the fashion gaining, 
and the Queen disposed 

to smiling, 
And I knew that soon 

her frowning 
Would at skirts he 

as of yore; 
And I wondered 

(how I wondered!) 
— When the time would come 
for changing 
Back from leggings 

to wide dresses, 
Would the men and boys 

(and women) 
Think the innovation 

startling 
( — Or, at least, 

so very startling 
As it was from gowns 

to leggings)? 
Then I saw a home, 

and in it were two girls 
—two daughters 

of the household. 
Entered now the father, 

smiling; 
And he noted 

how the girls were robed, 
And o'er his face 

there came a look, 

of pained surprise. 
"Nay, girlies mine," 

he said, 
"It is not fitting 

— such a dress as this, 



Nor is it pleasing 

to your father, 
And he loves you 

best of all. 
Now, tell me, 

is it proper?" 
While he spoke, 

one forward came 
And playfully •« 

in girlish manner, 
Placed her hand 

upon her father's lips, 
And made a laughing protest 

'gainst his speech: 
"Now, not a word, 

this father mine, 
— For know you not 

that Fashion orders it 
— Society demands it. 
— 'Tis full dress, 

you dear old sweetheart." 
Jokingly he answered her: 
"Full dress, indeed! 

It is not full, at all; 
And, yet, 

'tis more than full; 
'Tis like the paradox of Life 

— It is, and yet 'tis not! 
'T is more than full 

at bottom, 
But at top 

't is more than less than full; 
'tis even more than scant 
— There's not enough 

to weigh it even 

in the balance, 



60 



To weigh 4o prove it 

wanting altogether!" 
Now they joined in laughter, 
for affection reigned 

among them; 
And love was deep 

and tender 
In the father, 

whom the girls adored. 
— The father, playful, 
touched a button, 

calling in a servant: 
"Bring a broom!" 

he said, in boyish glee, 
And, in mock earnestness, 
he swept the floor 

while saying, 
"If you wear this train, 

then I must go before 

and sweep the way 
Across the porch 

and all along the street, 
Lest in its folds 

there gather up all sorts 
Of dire reminders 

of the gay bacteria!" 
The daughter stayed his hand 
and said: 

"Nay, Father Antics, 

— need of sweeping 

there is none, 
For, see, I gather up the folds 

like this, 
And carry all the train 

— not even touching 

floor or ground at all !" 



It chanced the other daughter 
thought her of the messenger 
who brought the gowns 
— Who had been waiting 
for some word 

of commendation 
Of the fitting 

of the garments; 
And she summoned hastily 

this messenger. 

The one who entered 

was a maid 
Of stature small, 

but years mature; 
Her face was thin, 

her eyes were sad, 
And her apparel 

scant, and worn, and soiled. 

On seeing her 

the father of the girls 

felt sore at heart, 
And picking up 

a pair of shears, 
That lay within a basket 

holding woman's work, 
In mood more serious 

he quickly clipped a border 
From the hanging trail 

of his fair daughter's dress, 
And threw it o'er the shoulders 
of the waiting maid, 
Who, in astonishment, 

could make no protest, 
"This will keep you warm," 

he said, 



61 



"And you may, 

at your own convenience, 
make yourself a gown; 
And wliile you're wearing it, 
remember well the lesson 

that it teaches 
—Waste and Want 

are twins. 
And now, my own dear girl," 

he further said, 
"There's still enough to spare, 

in this one dress, 
To shear away 

and make a cape 
To cover your fair shoulders 
— in a way becoming girls 

so pure and sweet 
As are these daughters mine, 

my children." 

While he was speaking, 

one had entered 

— 'twas the mother. 
"Don't be foolish, dear," 

she said; 
"We all must heed 

Queen Fashion; 
On the dress 

that pleases you the best 
she frowns! 
Now Fashion 

has a way her own 
And she will have it, 

do we what we may 

to hinder!" 
"May be father's right, 

dear mother," 



Said the girls, 
"and Fashion may be wrong, 
though she be Queen! 
There's something better, too, 

than Fashion's smile." 
" — And something worse 

than love of father 
And this dear, sweet mother," 

said the man, 
And then he kissed the mother 
and the daughters, lovingly. 

And now I saw 

the maid depart. 
Along the street 

she made her way 
Until she stopped 

at sound of music. 
Out from palace building 

there was melody, 
And sound of keeping time to it 
by tripping feet of dancers. 
Then the maid, 

with train of dress 

still on her shoulders, 
(Making contrast sharp 

with soiled old dress,) 

stayed, listening, 
And drinking in the melody 

of strains so heavenly to her 
But this I noticed: 

Only in her heart 

did she keep time 

to music; 
For her body tired, 

and wearied limbs, 
and sore-chafed feet, 



63 



No impulse had 

to beat the time 
Upon the smooth but stony- 
pavement. 
— This I saw, 

and, grieved at heart, 
I heard again 

that strange and sad Refrain 
— then lost the Vision! 

Now I saw a sanely beach, 

and on it gathered there 
A motley group 

of men and women, 

lads and lasses. 
They were playing noisily, 
all chatting, chaffing, 

laughing, shouting. 
They were dressed 

in costume varied; 
Only in one way alike 

— their costumes — 
'Twas in this, 

that all their dress 

was scant and thin; 
For there was 

naught superfluous 

in dress of any; 
Not enough to cover nakedness 
in dress of many. 
There was naught 

to serve as ballast 

— needless ballast: 
Only when 'twould help 

to float the body, 
Was there more abundance 

(as the larger sleeves). 



Naught I thought 

of this scant dress; 
For everything seemed 
wholesome, funful, 

and for good and pleasure. 

All suggestion was 

of healthful exercising, 
The delight of friendship 
and companionship, 

forbidding thoughts of ill. 
But Fashion had her place 

— near by and on her throne 

And smiling — always sweetly — 

on her votaries 

(for such they were). 
But now I saw 

a thing most strange: 
Along the line 

of Fashion's vision, 
(As she gazed 

direct before her,) 
And parallel 

with line of shore, 
There seemed a line invisible, 
and when the bathers 
crossed the line, 
I saw that Fashion frowned, 
and quickly they, the bathers, 
would return as if ashamed. 
(It was as in the days of old 

— it seemed — 
When eyes of the first pair 

were opened, 
And they knew 

that they were naked.) 



63 



Standing by, 

(not bathing,) 
Others were there, watching 

all the fun and frolic, 
And the antics 

of the bathers. 
These would seem to think it 
naught of ill to see 
the naked limbs 
— While bathers 

were within the lines. 
But if it chanced 

that any stood without 

that magic line, 
And saw a bather 

on that outer side, 
They seemed disturbed 
in spirit, 

sore dismayed — 
(As if in sympathy 

with Fashion, 
Looking on 

and frowning). 
Now I saw that one 

who was a looker-on 
Was chatting with a bather, 

when it chanced 
(By accident, it seemed,) 

they crossed the line 

together. 
He who was not bathing, 
(nor was dressed 

as were the bathers,) 
was affected 
In a moment after crossing, 
by the other's dress 



—Was stricken 

with some malady, it seemed, 
And fell all prone 

upon the ground 
— And then I saw that he was 

in a faint! 
Then rose a cry 

of fright— alarm, 
And back, across the line, 

the bather hurried 
— shamed, repentant. 
He who fainted, swift was borne 
— upon a stretcher — 

to the Queen, 
Who sweetly smiled upon him 
(as if praising him 
for loyalty to her 

— the Queen). 
He soon recovered 

— nothing worse for falling 
— When he passed from sight 

upon his way. 
Then I was told 

there was no other remedy 
For this strange malady 

than Fashion's smile 
(Although I wondered 
if the malady itself 

were not a fashion only)! 
Now there came upon the scene 
two maidens, 

swiftly wheeling; 
They dismounted for a moment, 
joining lookers-on 
Who were in numbers 

on the beach. 



64 



But such commotion followed 
that the maidens 

soon were troubled 
in their minds, 
And were by others 

caused annoyance. 

Now I saw it was their dress 

that made commotion; 
Though I wondered 

at the strangeness of it; 
They were dressed in manner 
suited to the wheeling 
(not the bathing). 
Bifurcated the garments 

of the girls, 
But neatly fitting 

were they clothed. 
Their manner was of those 
who gentle are 

and modest; 
And well covered, hidden, 

were their forms; 
— From sole of foot 

to closely covered neck 
was there no nakedness 
upon them. 

Of bathers, who themselves 

were bare below the ankle, 
(Aye, and some below the knee, 

and many bare 
Beyond the lines conventional 
for even bathers 

in the water;) 

— Now, there were of these 

who curious were 



About the dress 

worn by the wheelers, 
And they scanned the maidens 

closely (and offensively) 
With look of being shocked 

beyond expression. 
These made protest 

by their manner, 

(some by words;) 
And there were boys, 

(themselves more bare 
than were the others,) 
— Boys who came behind 

the maiden visitors, 
And, throwing sand upon them, 
ordered them to "Scat;" 
Whereat I saw they scatted 

with alacrity, 
And (sore disturbed in feeling) 

soon were lost to view 
By swiftly wheeling 

on their way. 
Anon there came two maidens 

who were wheeling; 
And their dress was like the one 
worn by the maidens 

driven off before, 
By jeer and gibe 

of sportive bathers. 
These were greeted 

in like manner 

to the other wheelers, 
Yet did they but little heed 

or seem to fear 
The frowns of Fashion 

or the jeers of others. 



While standing for a moment 

near the throng, 
They gazed upon the others 

with an air of mild disdain, 
Then hied them quick to cover 

near at hand, 
Where bathers 

full convenience had 
for making change of robing. 
Here the maids threw off 

their outer dress, 
And, in a twinkling, lo! emerged, 
and robed as was 

the throng of bathers, 
Bare of feet and ankles, 

and above; 
And bare 

of arms and neck, 
In splendid form 

and radiant maiden beauty. 
Quickly they appeared, 

a picture full inspiring; 
And, well greeted, with a smile 
by Fashion. 
With the smiles and cheers 

of bathers, 
Plunged they then ' 

far in the waters 

all inviting, 
Helping thus to swell 

the noisy fun 

and frolic. 
Now, it chanced, two girls 

in bathing costume, 
In some spirit of adventure, 

mirthful, wanton, 



j Saw the wheels unused, 

and, springing on them, 
Wheeled across 

that line invisible. 
This seeing, Fashion frowned 
and even stamped her feet, 
in marked displeasure 
Now this action of the maidens 
seemed as if it were a crime, 
and dreadful; 
Though to me 

it was all blameless, 
Like the harmless play 

of kittens. 

For a time 

they braved the furor, 

but at last they winced 
Before the swell 
of mighty indignation 

at such dreadful innovation 
As infraction of the laws 
of Fashion, 

and before her very eyes! 
Back across the line 

they hurried, 
But in very act of crossing 

they both tumbled, 
ere dismounting, 
As if to the din and protest 
of the people 

and their Queen! 
Now two other maidens, 

mirthful, 
Hastened to the place 

of robing, 



66 



And there -donned 

the dress for wheeling 
Over their own suits 

for bathing, 
And returned 

to mount their wheels. 
These in their turn 

were hooted, 
But by some, not all 

the people, 
For many now 

were laughing 
At the humor 

of the play. 
But the thing 

the most surprising 
Was the doing of Queen Fashion; 
for she joined 

the ones hilarious, 
And now smiled 

upon the maidens! 
When the jeering ones 

saw Fashion 
Was not frowning, 

but was smiling, 
They desisted in their protests 
and no more 

the girls were hindered 
In their wheeling 

at their pleasure! 
For they knew, 

(but had forgotten,) 
That the laws 

enforced by Fashion, 
Are but laws conventional, 
not as of Medes and Persians 
all unchangeable. 



Now I saw the Queen 

was curious 
And became full interested 
in the style, 
or in the pattern, 
Of the dress 

worn by the wheelers! 
Then in her will majestic 
she commanded 

their attendance 

at her side. 
This gave the cue to others 
and the throng, 

no longer laughing, 
Ceased to make 

a further protest, 
And they turned to a discussion 
of the merits of the dress 
— its merits and its faults 
"The dress is not unpleasing," 
said Queen Fashion, 

now most gracious; 
"Let it have its place 

hereafter; 
— You may wear it 

when 't is fitting 

to your need." 
"Aha," one said, soon after, 

and aside, 
"Its place will be one larger 
than Queen Fashion 
now conceives; 
For where the place not fitting 
to its need, 
If it be in the temper 

of Queen Fashion 



07 



That the dress 

be worn at all?" 
"And it will be 

still more pleasing," 
said another, 
"As our minds to it are customed 
in the wearing. 
The human form, 

that is ideal 
— A never-varying standard, 

peerless in its beauty — 
This, a thing of grace 

and loveliness, 
So has been hidden 

under woful shapes 

of Fashion 
That it is the thing to which 

we least are customed; 
So it is we leave 

the inner circle 

of perfection, 
And we flounder 

on the outskirts 
in grotesque incertitude, 
With ne'er a resting place 
for sole of foot 

of any winged ideal. 
So it is we hug 

as our ideals 

the pets of Fashion, 
Vain illusions, 

of the nightmare order, 
And anachronistic freaks 

ephemeral." 
" 'Tis true," another said, 

"and always it is so. 



The new and strange 

is not so pleasing 

to our senses 
As the old 

and more familiar. 
What we love the best, 

and has our tenderest care, 
is the oldest of association. 
We love old songs 

the best; 
The obsolete 

is most romantic, 
And only that is classic 

which is of the older days. 
We like the new, 

the old we love. 
The things of yesterday outre, 
are on the morrow 

in good form. 
- -Methinks the dress 

has come to stay." 

Whereat the boys 

who threw the sand 

upon the girls, 
Now threw it high in air 

and shouted, "Hip, hurra," 
and full content. 
And now, among the bathers, 
saw I one — a maiden, 
modest, beautiful, 
And she was clothed in manner 
more regardful of proprieties 
than others were. 
Among the men was one 
who sought to flirt 
with this fair maiden; 



68 



But she liked him not, 

and she repelled 

all his advances. 
His appareling was 

scantiest of them all; 
And he was bolder in his manner 
than were others. 
While I gazed upon this scene, 
it passed away, 
And I was in an office 

in a city. 
She who was most modest 

at the seashore, 
Sat there, in this office, 

at a table, writing. 
She was dressed in skirts; 

but short, 
As they are worn 

by girls who ride the wheel. 

And now I saw 

that he who was so bold 

when bathing, 
Who had liking for flirtation, 
who had dressed 

in shameless fashion, 
— Now I saw 

that he came forward 
And he made sharp protest 
'gainst the wearing 

in his office 
Of a dress 
like that worn by the maiden; 
— of such dress immodest 
— One that shocked 

susceptibilities so tender 
as his own! 



And if she hoped 

to hold employment there, 
She must appear no more 

in robing like her own 

that day! 
And now he passed 

without the door, 
And she who 

had been harshly censured, 
fell to weeping; 

When there came to her 

another maiden, 
(One who had been sitting near,) 
who brought sweet sympathy 
in words and tears. 
And in their talk together, 

soon I learned 
How often, often, 

had they come — these girls — 
With skirts all draggled, 

by the rain and slush 

of dirty street, 
All wet for inches 

from the bottom up! 
And with these garments 

wet about their feet, 
Would these sweet maidens 
sit the long hours through, 
and suffer 

from the dampness. 
When it chanced to be 

the turn of sacrifice 
That woman pays 

for motherhood, 
(That man has right 

to safeguard and to honor 



69 



And that well demands 

the chivalry most loyal 
of the truest manhood,) 
— When this chanced to be, 

there danger was 
Of suffering 

for these maidens fair, 

and long-continued. 
While I mused, and thought 

that modesty of man, 
so-called, 
May be a cloak 

for something worse 
than ignorance, 

this picture also faded. 

Nor was it all a comedy 

— this play of contrast, 

Progress; 
For I saw such tragedy 

as is in Life 
— In all of Life 

— its comedies and dramas. 

Now with the changing 

of the dress, 
Was change 

of occupation. 
First, the woman wrought 
in dwellings — 
(as at service), 
Even toiled she in the fields 

among the waving grain 
— Was hewing wood 

and drawing water 

for the man. 
Like a slave of man was woman, 
and it seemed 



That it had always been 

that woman thus had toiled. 
For long and hard 

was woman's working, 
And from morn till night, 

and in the night itself, 
Until the morning's light 

would break upon her doing, 
Bringing day, but more of toil 

—not rest. 
I saw that woman, 

when in service, 
Oft did suffer many things 

that hurt her pride; 
No recognition would she have 

that she was — woman. 
She would sleep in corners 

— room in garrets; 
She would eat of scraps, 

and have no change 
Beyond horizon 

of a dooryard. 
She would tire 

of all the slow monotony 
Of grind, 

and ill-requited labor; 
As of one without 

the very circle of her moving 
— Without in all the life 

and purpose of it 
— Within for needs alone 

of holding body, soul 

together; 
Within to play the role 

of holding bodies, souls 
together, 



Of the others whom she served 

— of those more favored. 
Now I saw her 

seeking other service 

than the daily grind 
— The grind of 

hopeless monotone 

of scant existence. 
First, she sought 

the factories, 
And she found some happiness 
in shorter hours of toil, 
and freer ways of living. 
Aye, and even seemed it 
that she rose degrees 
in social status 

in her laboring! 
And, so encouraged, 

other fields she entered! 

— School and office 

and the shop, 
And medicine and law 

and pulpit; 
Till at last (it seemed) 

there were no doors 
That had been open 

to her brother 
That she feared 

to knock upon. 
And, when 

in her own quiet way 
She knocked for entrance 

into newer rooms, 
There were no doors 
that opened not 

at her persistence. 



Then I saw her writing books, 
and printing, sketching, 
painting, teaching, 
— All in ready willingness 

and skill, 
And happy in her newer sphere 
of independence 
All unknown to her of old 
(and to her mothers, 

of the centuries gone). 
Nor did she lose 

the graces of her sex, 
In changes rapid 

like to these; 
But out from all these phases 

of her doing 
— From out the shop, 

the factory, school 
and office 
Gladly did she go 

and enter 
Woman's greater, 

grander sphere 

— the Home 
—The sphere she loves 

e'en better than them all 
—The sphere of wifely joys, 
of mother cares 

— the sphere 

of Love. 

The Comedy was ended; 
I was in a city 

— on the street. 
I saw a half-closed open door; 
'twas closed from sight 

— not entrance, 



7; 



For 'twas open to all comers, 

had they money and desire. 
It had an air solicitant 

far more than air inviting. 
Standing there 

in lounging postures, 
(Of the atmosphere about them 
all unmindful,) 
There was group 

of idle people. 
In the hand or in the mouth 

they had cigar or cigarette 
— In their eyes was smoke, 

in nostrils, fumes of liquor. 
Air they had forbidding 

and repellent. 
Some were gross, 

and some were lawless, 
all of them ill-bred; 
And coarsely eyeing, 

boldly staring, 
Or were ogling, 

all the passers-by. 

Idle loungers — common loafers — 

were they; 

And as careless of themselves 

as reckless of tbe rights 

of others. 

Comment made they, 

at their fancy, 
On the people 

passing near them; 
— On their dress, their walk, 
their manner, 
or their seeming errand. 



With these fellows 

— rude and reckless — 
There was naught 

in any manner 

sacred in its privacy. 
When the subject 

of their laughing, 
Of their scoffing, 

chaffing, sporting, 
Heard their comments, 

loudly spoken, 
Naught cared they, 

the vampires, vipers, 
They the vagabonds, 

the villains. 
Were they not 

freebooters social, 
— Traitors to all 

kindly ties? 

Spared they none 

— not even women? 
Nay, for more than man 

was woman 
Made their mark, 

was made their target. 
She, less callous than the others 
— she who keener feels 

the stings, 
In her inner self 

more sensitive, more modest, 
More alive to coarse allusion, 

lustful glance, 
For her it was they had in store 
when passing, 
All the shafts of ridicule, 

most stinging. 



73 



If there was of manliness 

in all this group of idlers, 
loafers, 
It was in abeyance, 

it was dormant, latent, 
— There was none 

in evidence. 

Not so strange this picture; 

I had seen it often, often, 
And I ask 

who has not seen it, 
Seen it daily, 

in the cities, in the towns 
and in the country? 
And the answer 

— you may hold it, 

if you will, 
Aye, lest it shame us 

— shame our ethics, 
Shame our progress, 

shame our laws, 

and our religion. 

While I watched 

this group of idlers, 
One there came 

along the way, 
Who had helped 

unroll the Scroll. 
(She was wheeling 

as before.) 
Naught saw I in all her manner, 
or her dress, 

unpleasing; 
To mine eyes, 

and to my senses, 



She was innocence 

and sweetness, 

grace and beauty. 
If there aught were 

in her manner or her dress, 
unusual, 
It were nothing more 

than novelty; 
— But novelty 

is not a crime. 
With a movement rapid, 

graceful, 
Came this girl 

— a lovely vision. 

As she neared 

the group of idlers 
She had cause 

to stay her motion 

and dismount. 
Now I saw that it was she 
who/ at the wedding 

of her brother 
Stood beside the bride, 
it was the sister 
of the one so beautiful 
— Most beautiful of all to me 

— my Vashti; 
Aye, I saw 

that it was Edith. 

Quickly, with malicious folly, 
one who blear-eyed was 

and drunken, 
Called aloud, 

in halting hiccough: 
"Shame— (hie)— shame 

upon her!" 



And there were 

among these idlers 
Some who were 

(in manner seeming) 

Not ill-bred, 

and not ungentle, . 
Who the thought 

of this brute drunken, 

echoed— laughing! 

Colored then her face, 

as crimson, 
Did the face of this 

fair maiden; 
And no longer staying, waiting 
for the purpose 

of her halting. 
She moved on 

but now was walking 
Out of reach, 

and sight, and hearing, 
of the objects of offense! 

No retort she made 

— no answer. 
Not within her right, 

it seemeth, 

to make answer. 
It was in her right, it seemeth, 
but to suffer, and — move on; 
— That was her full right 

— as woman, 
But 'twas all her right, 

it seemeth! 
Strange the laws, 

and strange the customs, 
That the right is mine 

to trespass; 



And her right is but to suffer; 
— other right not hers 

—the woman's! 
Were I she, 

I would take chances, 

if I could, on Mars; 
There, mayhap, 

they do things better 
—naught could they 

do worse. 
Now, in passing, 

swiftly wheeling, 
There was one who heard 

and saw it 
—Saw the scene that I 

had witnessed; 
Then he stopped, 

and, lightly springing, 

stood before us. 
"Yours the shame," 

he cried out, hotly, 
"And 'tis more than shame 

in you; 
Foul your breath, 

and air-polluting, 
— All too foul for saying shame 
to one so pure 

— so pure and lovely 
— As we see 

in yon fair wheeler. 
'Tis no shame for doing only 
what is good in her own eyes; 
what is full within her right! 
Say you shame, 

aye, you who know not 
half the meaning 
of the word? 



74 



When you say it, you shame only 
her who bore you 

— your own mother!" 
He was young who spoke 

— just merging into manhood; 
Clear his eye, 

his hand was steady 
Warm his heart, 

and pure his thought. 
Type was he of rarest manhood, 

and I loved him 
For his graces, 

for his courage, 
And his championship 

of girlhood 
— Championship of one 

deserving, 
One so lovely and well worthy 

of protection 
Close he stood beside his wheel; 
within one hand 

the handle bar, 
With one hand lightly, 
on the saddle 
— resting lovingly upon it. 
As a thing of life and breathing, 
as a man his steed caressing, 
Were the two 

— the steed and rider. 
And he stood 

as one dismounted 

for a moment only. 
As one ready 

at the word of speeding, 
To be off and fleeting 

out of sight. 



"Eight, my boy," 

said one much older 
—One who heard it all 

while passing. 
He was one whose hair 

was graying, 
Not as once so strong his arm, 
but his eye was clear 

and kindly, 
Steady was his voice 

and bearing; 
"Eight my boy, 

there's something cheering 
in such manliness as yours; 
When you shall take the helm, 
the best of us may go. 
We older are, and of the past, 

and soon we must go hence; 
The man who comes 

is new, 
And I would see him worthy 

of the woman new 
(If she be all 

the other ask of her). 

If you are he, 

(or he be such as you,) 

we welcome him. 
The times have changed, 

the fashions, too, 

have changed; 
But fashions of our day 

are not so free from fault 
That they deserve 

perpetuation. 
We ourselves 

oft changed the fashions, 



75 



At our pleasure, 

at our will; 
Oft to suit our needs, 

our fancies, or our whims. 
And shall we say- 
to those now coming 
— Those who come 

to take our places: 
When you take in hand 

the vessel, 
You must ever trim the sails 

as they were trimmed before? 
Naught it matters 

what the need of sailors, 
Need of wind, 

or need of weather, 
Or the purpose 

of their sailing, 
As they find the sails, 

(or always as we left them,) 
shall they trim them! 
Shall we ask 

of their young blood 

such folly? 

Nay, I say, to their own liking 
be their sailing, 
And, my sailors, 

— men and women — 
Let me tell you, 

not too well your sailing, 
If it be not better 

than of old. 

Little did we in our past 

to give us pride; 
And less that we may urge 

for your repeating! 



— Naught that we 

may force on you as model." 

"Eebuked am I," 

said he of ruddy nose, 

half sobered; 
" — Boy, forgive me 

— here's my hand, 
And give me yours, 

young fellow 
Better far in other care, my boy, 
in care of manly men, 

like you, 
Than in the hands of men, 

like me 
(Who are not men), 

is woman. 
Boy, forgive me, 

for her sake — my mother, 
and for her — the maiden > 
— Yes, for her who had no need 
for shame." 

Whereat the boy, 

with glowing face, 
Clasped hands with him, 

now nearly sobered; 
Whereupon the motley group 

dispersed, in quiet seriousness. 
And ere the Vision 

faded from my view, 
The sad Kef rain had changed 
to melody more buoyant 
— to an air triumphant. 

Now I saw a woman beautiful 
— aye, beautiful beyond 

all other women; 



76 



For 'twas Vashti, 

Yashti, queen— my queen. 
She was dressed 

in manner fitting for a jaunt. 
There was freedom 

in the movement 

of her limbs; 
No sleeves too large and loose, 
nor skirts to be entangled 
in the wheel, 
Nor corsets cramping her 

free breathing. 
Fashion in no way 

distorted her, 
Or hid what is most beautiful 
of all the forms of Nature 
— hid her woman's form. 
— All its curving lines 

of grace, of beauty, 

all poetic motion 
Were not marred 

by tightened stays, 

protruding bustle, 

or by flaring skirt. 
Vashti's form was lithe, 

was flexile, 
And her eye was bright 

with pleasure; 
Glowing was her face, 

and crimson with the health 
of her young life. 
"I am ready," 

sang she sweetly, 
"I am ready, gentle Edith, 
what is keeping you, 

my little one, my chum. 



Now come 

and have a spin delightful, 
For the day is one most perfect, 
and all Nature sings 

a welcome 
— She is in her 

kindliest mood." 

Ere the maiden chum 

came to her, 
Chanced there by 

one not a maiden, 
But instead, a maiden's lover 

(as 1 saw soon after)! 
Blush of pleasure 

— recognition — 
Flushed the maiden's 

happy face, 
As she lifted hand 

to clasp one 
That had held her hand 

before. 
But the man withheld 

his greeting 
While the maiden 

fondly waited, 
And he glanced 

with cold displeasure 
At the maiden's form 

and dress. 
Stern his visage, 

form unbending; 
In his eyes 

a look severe; 
Quiet, stood he, 

chill, reproachful. 
Cold surprise in all 

his manner. 



77 



Checked the gladness 

of the maiden, 
Gone the smile 

. of welcome for him, 
And her eyes fell 

'neath the lashes 
While her face 

was half averted. 
Then he spoke in tones 

of harshness, 
xind his words were rough, 

unpolished: 
"What an outfit! 

I detest it! 
Never in my days and doings 

saw I such a rig before! 
It is odious, aye, offensive, 

and I want to say right here, 
That, unless from now, forever, 
you discard 

that mode of dress, 
Never shall take place 

the marriage we intended." 

For a moment 
both stood silent, 

gazing each upon the other; 
Chilled the maiden, 

and she coldly 
Drew a ring 

off from her finger — 
"Here it is 

—the ring you gave me, 
Take it back 

— I cannot keep it. 
Now, as well as waiting longer, 
learn you, sir, 



That woman's thinking, 
and her doing, 
are within herself. 
To such spirit of dictation 

she no longer can submit; 
If you seek some one 

more yielding, 
You are free, 

from now — Forever." 
With a heart oppressed 

and burdened, 
Yashti proudly turned aside, 
till he passed out 

from her presence, 
Out forever 

from her heart! 
So he passed 

— so passed the lover. 
But a lover she had yet 
—one who loved her 

more than ever 
— One who stayed; 

for still I lingered 
— I who now was Vashti's lover 
— Yashti's only lover. 

While I watched her, 

pale, yet lovely, 
Edith came, 

and pale, like Yashti; 
on her face a troubled look. 
She had changed 

the dress like Yashti's 
And she wore 

a woman's gown. 
Now she smiled 

when she saw Yashti 



— Smiled as' if 

in joyous greeting; 
Yet seemed Vashti 
most unmindful 
of the other's gentle grace. 
Then she roused herself 

— did Vashti, 
And she forced a smile 

of greeting, 
But from Edith's 

tender scanning 
Was not hid 

the falling tear. 
"Tell me, dearest, 

what the meaning 
Of this much-surprising 

sorrow, 
— Kay, my sweet one, 

I will hold you, 
And myself 

am with you weeping 

till I know it all— it all." 

Then did Edith, 

sweet, persuasive, 
Learn the burden 

of her sister; 
And in sympathy divine-like, 

lightened it by bearing of it. 
"Come you, sister mine," 
said Edith, 
"We must hie us back, 

a moment, 
For my robing . 

like your own. 
We shall bear this cross 

together. 



While your little sister's 

near you, 
You shall never, never carry 

all the cruel load alone." 

And, though gentle 

was this maiden, 
She was firm, 

and had her way; 
And I saw 

that Vashti yielded 
That her chum 

should doff her gown, 
Doff it for a dress 

like Vashti's 
— Dress like that 

which caused her sorrow, 
Cost the lovely girl 

a lover; 
But a dress 

that pleased another, 
Pleased one 

who could love her better 
— Better than 

the tyrant lover — 
(As it seemed 

to her new lover 

— lover now forever). 

Once again I was in Class, 

but now a Sabbath class 
— a Sunday school. 
Ere I saw it 

I had listened 
To such sweet 

and holy chimes 
As flood the soul 

with spirit-life; 



That bring to weary, 

burdened hearts, 
a holy peace and calm. 
Then I listened 

while the people sang, 

the young and old, 
But more the young, 
for there were few 

beyond the years 

of childhood. 
This the hymn they sang 

— 'twas prayer in song: 

Our Father 

who in heaven art, 
To Thee ice pray, 

O Holy One; 
O hallowed 

may Thy name e'er he, 
Thy kingdom come, 

Thy will be done, 
Be done on earth 

as '£ is in heaven 
— Our Lord, Thy Son, 

himself hath said; 
O may ice ever 

to Thee pray: 
Give us this day 

our daily bread. 
As we 

forgive our debtors here, 
Do Thou 

our trespasses forgive; 
Into temptation 

lead us not, 
O may we nearer 

to Thee live. 



And now we pray, 

O Holy One, 
That Thou from evil 

us deliver, 
And Thine the kingdom 

evermore, 
The power and glory, 

praise, forever. 

Then I saw a class of boys, 
and they were lively, 
boisterous, ardent, 
mirth-provoking. 
And their teacher 

was himself a youth. 
Then I saw upon his face 

a look to me familiar; 
And I wondered if I knew him 
— wondered where I saw him 
in the past. 
Then one older, speaking to him, 

called him "Jacob;" 
When there came 
within my mind 

a flash of memory, 
And I knew that it was he 
who spoke so well 

in championship of Edith. 

Now at the sound, 

of gentle tap of bell, 
I beard a noise of buzzing 
— as of many voices 

in the air together; 
It was noise of all the classes 
— scholars, teachers, 
filling all the room. 



so 



' 'Blessed ure the merciful," 
said Jacob, 
to the waiting boys. 
"This scripture 

is our lesson for to-day. 

To whom shall we be merciful 
— to whom, to what?" 

In ready unison of voices 
came the answer, 

and they said: 
"To all— to man 

and beast." 
"To all," 

the teacher 

quick responded, 
— "Yes, to man and beast, 
to all the creatures 

of the Father." 

Then he told them 

of the thoughtless 

cruelties of men 
To other men, 

to beasts, to brutes: 
"Were we ourselves, both dumb 
and helpless, 
And another, 

having power and force, 

could make us suffer, 
We should cry 

within our very souls 

for mercy; 
We should feel 

that he who is not merciful 
Hath claim on none for mercy 
for himself, 



—If man be righteous, 

he regardeth life of beast; 
— so is the word 

of Proverbs. 
If man be cruel, 

he will brutalize himself; 
— this is the word 

of Poet." 
"Boys are cruel; 

— is it of our nature 

so to be?" 
So questioned one 

of thoughtful bearing. 

"Not so cruel 

is the boy, at heart, 

but thoughtless only. 
We have seen the boy 

delighting in the chase 

of pretty butterfly, 
The killing 

of a harmless squirrel, 
The robbing 

of the little home of bird, 
The worrying of dog 

— its cruel torture. 
Maiming of dumb animal, 
— and heedless 

to the mute appeal 
Of eyes of eloquence 

for life, 
For liberty to have 

its humble comfort 

unmolested. 
We have seen the boy 
remorseless 

in these cruelties, 



81 



Nor ever feeling once 

a smiting at the heart 
For all the needless suffering 

he causes. 
— But we see the hoy 

grown older, 
And when home and children 

have drawn out 
The deeper, tender harmonies 

of soul and being, 
He who, as boy, 

was cruel in his very play, 
As man, 

is tender as a mother-heart 
for helpless babes. 
But I would have you 

tender now, my boys, 
Would have your hearts 
go out in sympathy 

for all that suffers, 
In a kinder fellowship 

for all of God's creation. 
I would have you halt 

ere you shall rob 
The life of that 

which never has molested you; 
Whose loss 

may serve you not; 
Of that which you 

have power to take, 

but not to give again! 
To take a life unbidden, 

as it seems to me, 
Is making protest 

'gainst the great Creator 
of all life 



For giving life that you, 

in your small wisdom, 
Do declare by action 

hath no need to be! 

Now it may be 

that lesser life 
Hath been created 

for the need and use 

of larger life; 
If so interpret we 

the will of Him 
Who is the Father 

of all life, 
It may be well that we, 
(in all the spirit 

of the will divine,) 
Take life that hath 

its use and purpose 

to our need. 
And in this spirit 

— in the spirit of some need, 
And in some manner 

full in harmony 
With all the purposes 

of life, 
— In spirit such as this 
we may, perhaps, 

take life we cannot give, 
And not embrute 

the larger life — our own 
— That larger life 

that all of smaller life 

doth seem to serve. 

'But,' you will ask, 
'is not creation 

all a growth 



82 



Of that which hath been living 
on its fellows, 
Till a chain of life, 

(from lowest to the highest.) 
Is made up of links 

that are the lives gone out 

for other life? 
For, life of one 
is feeding always 

on some other lower life; 
And it, in turn, 

doth give its life 
As food for higher life: 

till man is reached, 
And he his hand controlling lays 
on all the lower life, 
And makes it serve his need, 
and makes it yield its life 
to save his own. 
Must we not say 

that 't is the will of Him 

who gave all life, 
That man shall do 

what all of lower life 
Has always done, 

is always doing in its turn? 
— Yea, is not this 

the will of Him 
Who placed the need upon us 

of existence, 
And the power hath given us 

to serve that need?' 
And I answer you, 

that so to me it seemeth; 
But it seemeth even true 

that in the lower life alone 



The instinct is 

to always take, 

to kill, destroy, 
For as the evolution 

of enlarging life 
Finds resting place 

on higher planes, 
There is the higher thought 

— the thought divine; 
— Not thought of taking life 

— destroying it, 
But thought creative 

— thought of giving 
— Thought to save, not kill, 
to help, not hurt, 

to aid, not hinder! 
So it is that man 

who reaches higher planes, 
(Who nearer comes to Him 

whose image he should bear,) 
Has less desire, 

and lesser need, 
For hurting, hindering 

other life 
— For taking it 

beyond recall. 
The nearer to his own 

the other life, 
Along the line 

of its development, 
The more to him 

'tis sacred 
In its right to stay, 

to serve the purpose 

of its being. 
We may choose 

those higher planes, 



83 



Or may elect to fall behind 
— to take the backward way 
toward lower life 
— To take our way 

back to beginnings. 
As we set our faces, 

so we make our journey; 
And I tell you, boys, 
when we are cruel, 

cold and heartless, 
— Taking other life 

in needless way, 
We're setting face 

not to larger heights, 
But backward, rather, 

toward the lower planes — 
To planes where even lesser life 
is pushing only forward! 
Would you turn your faces 
toward the heights 
— the zenith of all purpose; 
Let me tell you, 

boys of mine, 
You must be gentle, 
kindly, helpful, 

to all struggling life, 
Nor ever heartless, 

cold and cruel 
To your fellows, 

man or brute. 

So let us heed the words of him 

who wrote as one inspired: 

The quality of mercy 

is not strained; 
It droppeth, as the gentle rain 

from heaven 



Upon the place beneath: 

it is twice blessed; 
It blesseth him that gives, 

and him that takes: 
'Tis mightiest in the mightiest; 
it becomes 
The throned monarch 

better than his crown; 
His sceptre shows the force 
of temporal power, 
The attribute 

to awe and majesty, 
Wherein doth sit 

the dread and fear of kings; 
But mercy 

is above this sceptred sway, 
It is enthroned 

in the heart of kings, 
It is an attribute 

to God himself; 
And earthly power 

doth then show likest GocVs 
When mercy seasons justice. 

The Class was over 

and I thought: 
How many the Gamaliels in life 
and to most willing ears 
are speaking; 
Teaching 

of the life that is, 
— Its purpose, meaning, 

and its issues! 
And how many more 

are learning, 
Sitting at the feet 

of masters! 



84 



Oh, the hungering 

and the thirsting 
Of the human heart 

for light! 
For the bread 

— the bread and water — 

for the needs of soul; 
Or some key that may unlock 
the awful mystery of Life! 

Now I stood upon the street 
— the crowded thoroughfare 
of noisy city. 
Along the way 
a horse was speeding, 
under lash of reckless driver. 
Now he stumbles, 

does the noble brute, 
And prone 

upon the pavement lies, 
With bulging eyes, 

and gasping breath. 
Crowded round the fallen brute 
was group of idlers 

— men and boys; 
And from the windows 

there were gazing 
men and women, 
As the manner is of accidents 

upon the street. 
Then I saw that he 
who drove his horse 

so hardly, to his death, 
In anger was 

and heartless mood. 
"Oh, shoot him," 

cried the fellow, roughly, 



"He is done for, 
and the quicker out the way 
the better!" 
Among the lookers-on were boys 

who in the Sunday class 
Had learned 

the lesson of humaneness. 
Shocked their hearts 

— their hearts yet tender — 
By the sight of brutal coarseness, 
and the cruelty of man. 
"Isn't he a brute?" 

exclaimed one, 
"If he were my father," 

said another, 
"Do you think I'd own him? 

— Never, never!" 
Said another: 

"Our old nag is past aworkin' 
And we haven't 

ever harnessed him 

for years 
— For more 'n four or five, 

I reckon; 
But d'ye think we'd treat him 

like that fellow does a his'n? 
Betcher boots we wouldn't 

— would we, Billy?" 
"You wouldn't do it— never," 

Billy reckoned heartily. 
"Guess you like him 

just as much 
Or more 'n when 

you worked him," 
Further answered Billy, 

with fine loyalty. 

85 



"More 'n ever," said the boy, 
"I guess we do, 

and, anyways, 
If only for the good he's done, 

we wouldn't let him suffer; 
— For the good he's done, 
and not for what 

he's good for now!" 
But, doomed the beast 

of hopeless burden, 
For there came 

a minion of the law, 
In uniform 

of brass and color. 
Under gaze 

of thronging seers, 
Made he end, 

by leaden bullet, 
Of the life within the beast 

— the life, as one may see it. 
"What a brute!" 

the boys cried, hotly; 
And their words 

were not intended 
For the beast 

in death low-lying, 
But another brute still living 
— for a brute 

they called— a man. 
A moment after, 

on the horse's neck 
I saw a chain, 

and there was one 
Who came with mules 
to drag the body 

to the burying. 



Still the boys 

were lingering near, 
To see the doings of their elders, 
and the ending of a scene 

to them a tragedy. 
"Say, mister," said a lad, 

to him who had the mules 
in hand, 
' Now ain't you goin' 
to say a word 

about the horse 
— Say somethin' over him 
— say somethin' good 

before you bury him?" 
"Yes, give the horse a funeral," 
said another. 
"Quick, let's off our hats 

— now, boys." 
The driver halted, 

for a moment puzzled, 
Questioning the meaning 

of the boys. 
When it flashed upon his mind 

that they were serious, 
And would have religious rites 

and proper burial 
For the carcass, 

loud be laughed; 
But only half in ridicule, 
and half, himself, 

in serious mood. 
On second thought 

he swore an hybrid oath, 
And started up the mules; 
and so the boys (and beast) 
were cheated of a funeral. 



86 



Anon there came two girls, 
swift speeding 

on their wheels. 
On seeing this, the boys 

forgot their little grief, 
And with a loud "hurra!" 
ran wildly on 

to meeb the girls 
And give them greeting 

—of its kind. 

"Ho, bloomers!" 

cried they out, in chorus, 
Knickerbock, forever 

—what a guy!" 

"How now, Miss Wanton," 

said another; 
— Then he saw a look of pain 
pass o'er the face 

of one of these fair girls, 
And quickly 

did he check himself 

as one ashamed. 
Now I saw that she was Edith, 
and the other, Vashti! 
And I saw the boy 

was hurt in mind. 
And to a mate 

said hurriedly: 
" 'Tis our own teacher 

in the Sunday school; 
And we have shamed her 
— shamed the one we love 

the best of all." 
"No, shamed ourselves, I guess," 
the other answered, 



More ourselves than her 

—I wonder did she know us?" 
Then I saw the first boy 

cried, in his vexation, 
And he vowed he'd never dare 

to see her face again. 
Now, rough and rude 

as was this greeting, 
Still the girls were helpless; 
and no answer 

could they give, 
But blush, and pale, 

and — move along. 
Nor was there one 

on all the street 
To chide the boys 

or stay their hand; 
Yet there were standing by, 

an officer, 
And beings dressed as men, 

who laughed derisively. 
All sympathy had spent itself, 

it seemed, on dust of brute; 
And none was left 

for gentle maidens 
— Mothers yet to be, perchance, 
of boys and men. 
And I was angered, 

when I saw it all, 
And wondered: 

Is the person then 

of every citizen, 
Save her most helpless 
— save the woman, 

safe from insult 

and assault? 



So it seemed to be, 

in this a land 
Of righteousness 

and liberty. 

And wondered I what sentiment 

was there abroad, 
That scenes like this 

could come before mine eyes! 

The scene was changed; 

— it was a home 
—One beautiful, 

and Edith entering. 
She was flushed in face, 

and had a troubled look; 
And when she entered 

sought she soon and found 

her mother. 
Dropping on her knees, 

she buried face 

in mother's lap, 
And then the pent-up flood 

was open, 
And the trembling girl 

was sobbing bitterly. 
No question 

asked the tender mother; 
— Only waited for the girl 

to speak. 
"They called me wanton," 

Edith said, at last. 
"And you were brave," 
the mother answered 

"only brave, my darling." 
Then I turned my face, 

and left them there; 



As if a place 

too holy for all others 
— Left them there 

where this sweet maid 
Might in the slumb'rous comfort 
of a mother's arms, 
Find peace and rest 

denied her by her fellows 

— man or boy! 

And now I saw that Edith 

was again awheeling, 
But was dressed in skirts 

(as women are when walking); 
For it seemed 

her courage failed her 
For a longer martyrdom 

in doffing skirts again 
— for even Vashti's s^ke! 
Now she and Vashti 

were again together, 
And 't was Vashti only 

who, in dress more fitting 
For the wheeling, 

dared to brave the ridicule 

of thoughtless boy, 
And vulgar gaze 

of ruder man. 
Along the street 

the girls were spinning, 
When they heard, 

the warning sound 

of clanging bell, 
And thundering clatter 

on the pavement 
Of the wheels of engine 

speeding to a fire. 



On their way, 

and coming toward them, 
saw they plunging horses, 
As if mad with speed 

and lash of driver. 

Quick the street was cleared 
for right of way 
And all the air was tense 

with deep excitement. 
Now the girls made haste 

to turn from danger. 
Yashti quick dismounted, 

and with ease, 
But dress of Edith, 

(in her aim to turn aside 
and spring off 

from her wheel,) 
Fast caught in spokes, 
and Edith fell 

upon the stony pavement. 
She was lifted, 

and most tenderly, 
By one who soonest came 

to aid her; 
Then I saw that Edith 

was unconscious; 
And that he who came 

so quickly, 
Lifted her so tenderly, 

— was John. 
And now I heard 

the sad Refrain again. 
It seemed to voice the sorrow 

of a breaking human heart; 
It seemed to be the wail 

of hopeless agony. 



And then I saw 

a long procession, 
As of mourners, 

moving to a burial. 

Yet, I saw they sorrowed not 

as they who have no hope; 
For black was not 

the emblem of their grief. 
All white the carriage 

that was bearing 
To its resting-place 

the body of the dead. 
No hearse was there 
with lofty plumes 

of ostentatious mourning; 
And no fashionable woe 
expressed by robing 
— all conventional — 

of bearers. 
Nor hired were the vehicles 

of burial 
Whereby could mourning be 

by proxy 
(As in the older days 

when weepers by profession 
Wept more loudly 

than the ones bereaved)! 

But there was grief 

— and sorrow all intense — 
As one would sorrow 

at the absence long prolonged, 
But not the loss, 

of those best loved of all. 
They seemed to sorrow 
as do they whose absent ones 
are near in spirit, 



89 



A nd as looking for the day 

when they will meet again, 
And for companionship 

more joyous than before. 
And so no solemn funeral dirge 
was sung, 
And no display 

of hopeless grief; 
But, in the march 

that led to burying-place 

of mortal body, 
There was melody 

of life triumphant 

and eternal. 
Yet was there among them 

one who sorrowed 
In a way more hopeless 

than the others. 
This was John 

who mourned as they 

who have no hope, 
Who had no ray of light 

before him. 

Vashti walked 

beside her brother; 
In her maiden fashion 

she had laid her hand 

upon his arm, 
And in her sympathy 

and tender love 
I saw her look up in his face 

to comfort him; 
And more than e'er before 

I loved her, 
Vashti beautiful 

— so sweet, so brave. 



And now I saw the coffin 

and upon its lid 
I read these words, 

— these simple words, 

"Our Edith." 
Plain the service, 

for it was not formal. 
Ere it ended 

one there was 

who forward came 
And, in a poem, 
voiced the hopefulness of life 
—of death itself! 
And when 'twas o'er, 

they waited not to hear 
The hollow sound, 

or mockery of sound, 
Of falling clod 

upon the coffin 
— Empty coffin, 

empty of all else but clay 
— The dust to dust, 

its purpose served, 
And back to its own 

mother Earth, 
To make again the round 
in further service 

of the needs of Life. 

They left the grave, and singing 

— singing song triumphant, 
That had in it sentiment 

of spirit life and presence. 
So they passed 

out from my sight, 
And all to me was lost, 

save memory, 



90 



And lingering strains 

of melody 
— The airs triumphant 

— song and march — 
Both to the grave 

and from it. 
And then I thought how strange 
these melodies no echo had 
Of that weird, sad Refrain 

I heard so oft before; 
For what of all the scenes 

that came before mine eyes, 
Was there so sad 

as was this tragedy 
—This death of Edith 

— gentle Edith. 
Ere the strains of melody 

were lost upon mine ear 
There came (and marching) 

boys whom I bad seen 
In Edith's class 

and Jacob's. 
They gathered round the grave 
and silent were, 
While it was being filled 

with earth. 
Then one who was a leader 

— leader born, 
Turned to the others, 

saying: 
"Fellers, when we missed 

the other fun'ral, 
Who'd a thought 
we'd have another one so soon! 

And, fellers, 

say just what you like, 

this is our fun'ral." 



Choking here, he paused, 

then said: 
"There's many ways . 

of killin'; 
We may kill with hate, 

and we may kill, I guess,. 

by likin"; 
We may kill on purpose, 

or may kill and not know 

what we're doin'; 
But I tell you, boys, 

it's killin', every time, 
— for killin's killin'! 
Every time that someone's life 

is taken, someone's killed. 
What is killin', anyway, 

and what's the name 

for him what does it? 
What d' ye think 

we orter call it? 

Don't make no mistake, 

now fellers, 
There isn't anything 

to call it 'cept one thing: 
It's murd'rin', boys, 

— it's murd'rin', 
And the one 

what does the killin' 
— He's a murd'rer, 

yes, a murd'rer! 

So it doesn't matter 

how he does it, 

— killin's killin'; 
And the thing what's killed 
is murdered, 



91 



So the one what does it 

has to be a murd'rer! 
Say, was she killed? 

(pointing to the grave), 
Who killed her then 

— yon orter know." 
He paused, 

and all were silent. 

"Well, you know, as well as me, 

and everybody knows; 
For if we'd let her go that day 
and hadn't shamed her, 
like we did, 
She'd be alive to-day 
like we are now, 
then who's her murd'rers?" 
When he paused, 

they answered, "We are." 
Meekly, and repentant 

did they answer. 
"Yes, tee killed her 

— killed our teacher 
What we loved, 
and more than all of them, 

so we're her murd'rers." 
Here he paused again, 

and let the force of silence 
go beyond the power 
of words. 
"Now we can't help what's clone; 
what's done is done," 

he said; 
"She's gone, 

and we can't bring her back 
For all our tryin'. 

—Yes, she's — gone." 



Again he paused, 

to clear his voice, 
And drew a dirty hand 

across a freckled face 
To hide the signs 

of sobbing heart. 
"If we can't bring her 

back to life, 
There's one thing we can do, 
for we can stop right off 

akillin' others. 
Now fellers, 

near the very grave of her 
— Above the very corpse 

(they called it) 
Of the beautifulest girl, 
we ever knowed 

(now all were weeping), 
We're agoin' to swear; 

— I mean we're goin' to take 
— to take the oath 

we spoke of. 
Off your caps 'n fold your hands 

'n shet yer eyes 
— You, Tom, 'n you, Bill Gunder, 

ready, swear; 
You say the words, 

right after me: 
We swear by all that's good 

to swear by, 
That we're sorry 

that we killed her 
— Close yer eyes, 

you murd'rers — 
And we never, never, never'll 
do it 



!>•; 



In our lives again 

— so help us! 
An' we vow that when we see 

a hoy or man, 
Insult a girl, or woman, 

or that cries out at her dress, 
Or says a word that hurts 

her feelin's, 
We'll soon let 'em know 

who's her protector, 
An' we'll tell them 

they'll he murd'rers 
'Fore they know it 

like we were. 
An' then we'll stop 'em 

if we can, 
An' if we can't 

we'll call a cop. 
Now lift your hands, 
an' swear by her that's gone." 
"We swear," they said. 
"Let's join together 

so we'll have a 'ciety," 

said one; 
"Let's have our members 

and our officers, 
And have a pledge, 

and all." 

"Yes, let's," the leader said, 
and readily; 

And then and there 

they improvised and organized, 
In mimicry, unconscious, 

of the ways of men. 
"The first thing is the pledge;" 
so said the leader. 



"Put your finger 

on your forard, 
Let it linger 

there, you coward." 

"We're not cowards," 

said a boy, in anger. 

"Yes, you are, 'n all of us, 

'n so is men, 
The things we tackle 

are the littlest things of all; 
It's so ahuntin', so in fishin', 

so it is, I guess, in fightin'. 
We're the bravest 

when we've got 

the biggest chances; 
Them that blows the most's 
the biggest cowards, 

ain't they?" 

"Yes," they all agreed, 

and bravely, 
As the manner is 

of those whose chances 

are the smallest. 

"Say the pledge again. 

Now put your finger 

on your forard, 
Let it linger there, you coward; 
—that's the skull. 

Now close your fists 
'n cross your wrists; 

for that's the cross-bones. 
Hold your cross-bones 

'gainst your skull 
An' say the pledge 

with me:' 



93 



We pledge we'll never 
in our lives 

insult a woman." 
"Never," answered all, 

in chorus. 
Leader — "Girl or woman;" 

OtJiers— "Girl or woman." 
L. — "An' we pledge 

we'll not speak ill 

of woman;" 
O. — "Never will speak ill 
of woman, 

girl or woman." 

L. — "An' we pledge 

we'll help a woman 
every time we can;" 
O. — "Every time we can 

we'll help a woman. 
L. — "Help our mothers, 

or our sisters, 
An' the other fellers' 
mothers, sisters, 
or their daughters 
— help all women;" 
O. — "Ours an' every feller's 
mother, sisters, 

an' their daughters." 
L— "Pledge that we'll 

stand up for women always;" 
O. — "We'll stand up 

for women, always." 
L.— "We'll not sit, 

an' let a woman stand 
That ought to sit 

— we'll stand:" 



0.— "Yes, we'll stand, 

we pledge we'll stand 
an' let the woman sit." 
i.— "Pledge we'll let her sit 

— God bless the woman." 
— "Let her sit 

—God bless her." 
L.— "We'll be loyal fellers, 

an' we'll always . 
Lift our caps to her 

— by that she'll know us." 

Then they pledged themselves 

as Loyal Fellows, 
And they said: 

"We'll take the name as ours." 
And well I thought the boys 

deserved it— noble fellows; 
May their tribe increase 

— the Loyals. 
So I mused, and hoped 
that there might be but few 
(of older, as of younger,) 
Who would not be in it 

—in the boys' society. 
And, as for me, I said, 
' 'A Loyal I would wish to be 
forever." 
"Is there penalty?" said one; 

"Yes, Yes," the others cried. 
"A penalty! A penalty!" 

"Let's have a penalty! 
And what's it 

goin' to be?" 
"A penalty for what'?" 

the leader asked; 



94 



r 'For breakin' pledge," 

they answered. 

"This'll be the penalty," 

the leader said: 
"If one of us is seen ahootin' 
at a girl that's riclin' 

on a wheel, 
(An' 'cause he doesn't like 

her dress,) 
He'll have to be, himself, 

dressed up in bloomers, 
An' a rope 

tied round his ankles, 
An' the rope'll be 

as long's a cable 
— More 'n a hundred feet, 

I guess — 
An' then a girl 

that's ridin' on a wheel 
'11 take one end the rope, 
An' then he'll havetofoller her 
as fast as she 

can make him go. 
—So that'll be 

Ms skull and cross-bones!" 

Questioned one 

in troubled expectation: 
"Will he have to make the sign 
of 'skull and cross-bones' 
all the time he's runnin' '?" 

"Yes, of course," 

the answer was, 
"Of course he will, 

— 'n then we'll call him, 

'Bloomers! 



— Go it, Bloomers! 

You're a manly man — you are, 
But all the same 

you've got to take 

your medicine!' 
- -Yes, that'll be the penalty; 

now, how d' ye like it?" 
And they liked it well 

— each thinking of it 
For the other fellow, 

not himself 
(The generous fellows 

— men in embryo)! 

Now I saw 

that, standing by the boys, 
Was Yashti 

and her brother John. 
Unnoticed by myself, 
and by the boys, 

had been their coming; 
And the boys were shamed 

at seeing them 
— As if their doings 

had been ill. 

But Yashti's smile 

of friendly greeting 

quick assured them. 

You'll forgive us, boys, 

for seeing; 
— Bless you, for your loyalty 

to woman." 
"We're the ones to be forgiven," 

said the leader, 
"An' there's somethin' more 

to ask: 



93 



Won't you forgive us 

for Miss Edith; 
It would be like having her 

forgive us— if you would?'' 
"Dear Edith knows it all," 

she answered, 
"And already 

you're forgiven; 
More, she loves you, 

as I love you; 
Bless your hearts, 

you meant no ill; 
And good will come 
— must come— at last, 

from all this seeming evil.'" 
— Yet I saw that in her smile, 

a sob was hiding! 
"What's the name 

of your society?" 
Was Vashti's question next; 

as if to turn 
The current of their thought 

away from Edith. 
"Won't you name it?" 

One besought her; 
"Name it, John," she said; 

and John said, quickly: 
"If I named it, 

I would name it 

for its object 
— For Promoting Justice, 

Courtesy, Civility 
And Kindness 

to All Girls and Women." 
And the name was 

to the liking of the boys. 



Then Vashti added, sweetly, 

as was Vashti's way: 
"But one thing is there lacking 

in it all — 
Now make it open 

for the men full-grown; 
For, greater is the need 

with them 
Than with my boys — my Loyals 
— for its teachings." 
So it ended, and again 

was Vashti gone from me! 
Now I was taken 

to the farm again. 
It had an air 

as if deserted. 
Something told me 

all were gone. 
Now there came 

one who was aged; 
And he seemed as one 

whom all the world 
Had buffeted, 

and left alone. 
He also found (as I had found) 

no faces that he knew. 
Then slowly wandered he 

out to the fields, 
And there, alone, 

he sorely wept. 
And there I left him, 

with the sound 
Still in my ears of this strange, 
plaintive melody, and words 
That he, in trembling voice, 
and solitude, had sung: 



96 



'Tis true, it is as graceful 

as when, in other days, 
It wound along in beauty 

to the top; but as I gaze 
This musing hour upon it, 

sad tears my eyelids fill, 
For something's gone, forever, 

from the old path up the hill. 

The sunlight and the shadoio 

rest upon it, with the same 
Dear benedictive presence, 

as in the days when came 
No aching care to haunt me, 

from morn to eve at will, 
Ere something passed forever 

from the old path up the hill. 

The breezes, as they loiter by, 

the old airs fondly croon, 
The blythe birds in the tree-tops 

sing as in my life's lost June, 
And, as then, the myriad 
blossoms 

all around their wealth distill 
But there's something gone, 

forever, from the old path 
up the hill. 

Something— a face — a touch of 
hand 

— a voice—a presence — lo, 
A icorld that brought me heaven 

— all vanished, with thefloio 
Of pauseless time, and slowly 

along I wander still — 



With something gone forever, 
from the old path up the hill. 

Would ye might come again 
—again 
— O days so dear to me, 
And give me back the glory 
of my life's sweet Arcadyl 
For, though summer reigns, 
a goddess, 
in my heart lives winter's 
chill, 
Since something's gone forever, 
from the old path tip thehill. 

I lift my wet eyes skyward, 

and plead: "Why must it 
be— 
This inmost desolation, 

this awfid misery?" 
But Silence mocks my heart's 
cry, 

fresh tears my eyelids fill — 
Ah! something's gone forever, 

from the old path up the hill. 

The sun, in royal splendor, 

is flushing all the west; 
The day is dying — dying 

— 'twill soon be time to rest; 
— But, ah! no rest for me, 

as all alone I wander still— 
With something gone, forever, 

from the oldpath up the hill. 

And now I heard 

the sad Kef rain again, 



And it was like a wail of sorrow 
from a human heart 

near broken. 
From out this wail 

I heard a voice, 
And listening, 

I heard these words, 
And knew 'twas Vashti, 
singing: 
I'm nobody's darling 

— I'm nobody's darling, 
The toorld is all heedless 

— is heedless of tears, 
My light is gone out 

and my heart is all desolate, 
Desolate now, 

in the flood-tide of years; 
Oh, why will none love me, 

none love me, none love me, 
Oh, why is this dearth 

in mine heart — in mine heart, 
Oh , tohy has no soul 

in its own heart its yearning, 
Forbidding this drifting 
these long years apart; — 

And nobody's darling, 

ah! nobody's darling, 
The ivhole world so heedless, 

so heedless of tears, 
One's light all gone out 

and one's heart all desolate; 
— Desolate now 

in the flood-tide of years. 



Oh, is there no love-life, 

no love-life, no love-life, 
Some world not all heedless 

— so heedless of tears, 
JS r o light cdl gone out 

and no heart all desolate, 
But ever a gladsome 

flood-tide of years? 
O yes, there's some love-life, 

I know, Oh, I know, 
Where's never a dearth 

in one's heart — in one's heart; 
Each soid for some other, 

another for each one, 
And nevermore drifting 

nor hung'ring apart; — 

But somebody's darling, 

yes, somebody's darling, 
A ivorld not unkindly, 

and no more of tears, 
One's heart never burdened, 

and nevermore desolate,— 
Alioays a glad-time 

and flood-time of years. 



Then in the anguish 

of my sympathy for Vashti, 
I awoke, and found myself 

on mine own couch, 
And, lo! 'twas morning 

—it was all a dream! 



98 



Aye, 'twas all a dream, 

and yet, it seemed so real, 
I could but think 

I was not dreaming 

when I saw the Vision. 

And Vashti, none so real to me 

as she; 
In all my thoughts, 

for days, for weeks, 

was Vashti present. 
In my dreams I saw her, 

in my days I mused of her; 
And oft I asked if it might be 

that Vashti lives, 
And sometime would she 

come to me — be mine? 
And yet I knew it could not be 
— for was it not a dream! 
And what are dreams? 
Vagaries of the mind, 

all uncontrolled by reason! 
This the answer, 

but no clearer than before, 

the thought, 
For still the question 

is unanswered 

— what are dreams? 
Now, often, in those days, 

I sang of Vashti, sang to her; 
As did the lover, in the Vision, 
to his bride. 
I sang this song: 

O Vashti fair, 

my love for thee, 
Is like the surge 

of swelling sea; 



Nor time nor tide 

more changeless be 
Than is my love, 

sweet maid, for thee, 
O Vashti fair! 

O Vashti fair! 
Than is my love, 

sweet maid, for thee, 
Vashti fair! 

O Vashti fair, 

where'er it be 
Thy honie — if in 

the earth or sea — 
My heart has love 

for none but thee, 
O Vashti fair! 

for none but thee, 
O Vashti fair! 

O Vashti fair! 
My heart has love 

for none but thee, 
O Vashti fair. 

My Vashti fair, 

come to me, 
As, in my dreams, 

1 came to thee, 
If thou art real, 

my bride to be, 
O Vashti fair, 

my bride to be, 
O Vashti fair! 

Vashti fair! 
If thou be real, 

O come to me, 
My Vashti fair! 



And once I dreamed 
at mid-day clear 

— nor was I sleeping, 
And I heard the Voices 

as they sang: 

O Vashti lives 

— will come to thee; 
Nor in the earth 

nor in the sea 
She lives; but near, 

and lives to be 
Thine oion — thine own 

— thy bride to be, 
O Vashti fair I 

O Vashti fair! 
She lives, and near, 

thy bride to be, 
Vashti fair! 

So did I sing, 

and they, the Voices; 
Yet the thought 

— though sweet — 
That Vashti lived — was near me 

— would be mine 
— This thought 

was of the things 

that are of life 
— The things not real 

— less real, perchance, 

than dreams. 
And so the days went on, 
and, at the last, 

all hope was gone; 
For well I knew 

I had been dreaming only 



— Well I knew my mind 
had played me 

tricks fantastic, 
—As the mind is wont to do 
when dreaming 
— sleeping or awake. 
So passed the days, 

and still no sign 

of Vashti mine; 
Yet Love outlasted Hope 
and always 
did my heart remember. 
Aye, so passed the days, 
and at the last, was I content 
to dream her real; 
And then I said: "Sometime 

(in other life, perchance,) 
Will Love and Hope 

be reconciled. 
So passed the days; 

and even dreams 

— my empty dreams — 
Were real to me, at last; 
and I was comforted 

by Vashti's hope 
That somewhere 

is a Love-Life, 
And with nevermore of drifting, 
or of hungering in the heart 
— Where always is a glad-time 
and a flood-time of the years. 

Now, in this mood was I 

when something strange 

befell me; 
I was sitting 

in my chair, in office, 



100 



And was prone 

to slumber, 
When mine head bent low 
upon my desk, 
and I was sleeping. 

Then I rose, anon, 

with what intent 

I had no thought, 

And with no word explaining, 
passed out on the street. 

Along the crowded way 

I went, 
No thought controlling, 
save some purpose 

undefined. 
Turned I at last, 

and, through a door 

all unfamiliar, 
Mounted, step by step, 

a stairway, 
— Deigning not to take the lift 
that waited there inviting. 

Unquestioning, I made my way, 

until I stood before a door; 
Then turned the knob, 

nor waited bid of entrance. 

Once within, I let the door 

swing back to place, 
And gave no heed 

to noise it made in closing. 

Then I walked across the floor 

and stood beside a chair 
Wherein a maiden fair 

was sitting. 



She was leaning forward, 
and I saw 

that she was troubled 
— Burdened with some task, 

or problem, 
That was baffling 

her own solving. 
Glancing at a sheet 

that lay before her, 
I there saw 

a needed answer. 
Beaching forward, then, 

I took her hand in mine, 
And made it write in answer 

to her questionings. 
Quickly turned the girl, 
and glancing up 

(as one surprised), 
Her eyes looked into mine, 
and then I knew 

'twas— Vashti! 
When she saw my face, 
she, for a moment 

lost her smile in wonder; 
And she questioned by a look, 

the meaning of my coming. 
Then I smiled, in quiet way, 

and re-assuring, 
— Smiled as one 

who knew her well. 
And Vashti seemed to bring me 
from her memory; 

and her smile, 
(That rare, sweet smile 

that none but Vashti 

ever gave to me,) 



101 



Made all her face aglow, 

and, in the joy of it, 
I turned away 

and toward the door, 
Through the door, 

and down the stairs. 
Out on the street, 

along the way, 
And back again 

to where I toiled, 
I went with speeding feet, 

and heart of gladness. 
Then I sat me at my desk, 

and fell once more to slumber. 
When I woke 

I had a happiness 
That lifted me above the world, 
as if on wing. 
A happiness 

beyond the speaking 
was the thought 
That Vashti lived 

—had smiled on me, 

And I had hope 

to win her as mine own 

— O joy the thought! 

What happiness to know 

it was no dream 
— What I had seen before 

— the Visions 
— All the songs, the classes, 
pictures, melodies, 

or sad or buoyant. 
No baseless fabric of a vision 
was my dream, 



But it was real and, best of all, 
was Vashti living. 
Now a mate, beside me 

(of my toil companion) 
Spoke me, smilingly: 

"A jolly sleep you had, 
And something in your dreams 

has made you happy; 
Tell us of it- 
saw you one you love?" 
I smiled, and answered; 
"Nay, not in my sleep, 
and dreams, I saw her; 
But my joy is of my visit 

in the hour of absence 
Ere I slumbered here 

again. 

I may not tell you of it now; 
but, later, you will know, 
perchance. 
—Was I long gone 

— how long asleep?" 

He smiled, and answered: 
' 'Nay, you slept 

the time away, 

and dreamed: 
But short your hour 

as minutes are 

— not five in all! 

Yet this will I concede 

to your own thought: 
If to be off, 

is to be gone away, 
Then were you gone indeed ; 
for one may swear 



102 



That you went off 

— went off to sleep!" 
Whereat he loudly laughed 
at his own humor; 
But I had no heart 
for merriment, 

and joined him not. 
Gone, again, my happiness, 

and Vashti 
— Vashti, but a dream; 

yet did I love her 

even as a dream; 
And all the hours, 

awake or sleeping, 
Vashti was beside me 
— Vashti of my dreaming, 

but as real to me as life. 
And ever did I mourn 

the ending of it all 
— The ending 

of the romance of my life 
— my only one, 
For Vashti only, could I love, 

since I have dreamed of her; 
Yet like the end of others 

was mine own; 
— Though they had found 

and lost, 
While I had lost 

who had not found! 
Such is the paradox 

in Life! 
Now time went on 

and then it came 
That Hope 

was fast o'ertaking Love. 



It chanced that with a friend, 
I strolled along 

an unaccustomed way; 
And while abroad 

we talked together 
As the manner is 

of friends congenial. 
Now our theme 

was such as this: 
—Of Life— of Death— of Mystery 
of Dreams and Visions 

(sleeping and awake). 
We talked of what was real, 
and what imagined 
(or that had such seeming). 

What is Life? we asked; 
and what is Death? 
Are either real — are both? 
Which is the real, 
and which the seeming? 
Which is Death— which Life? 
But questionings like these 
led all too deep 

for my divining; 
For not schooled was I 

in studies of the soul, 

of occult things; 
Of things ununderstandable 

to me, 
That other men explain 

with ease and fluently. 
But listened I to him 

— my friend — 
Who of these themes absorbing 
was beyond his fellows wise; 



103 



And heard I him 

in his own pleasing way- 
make rare discourse. 

Now, in his thought, 

the things 
That are most real in seeming 

are the most imagined; 
—What, in our own minds 
are things imagined, 

are the real! 
And dreams, he said, 

(what we call dreams,) 
Mayhap are the realities of Life, 
and only these are real! 

So Death! 

To him 'twas not the real; 
Except as it was Life itself 

(and larger life)! 
Or, better, Death, as Death, 

is all imagined; 
But as Life 't is real 
— far more 

than is our living here! 

So his discourse 

was wise and deep; 
But farther in the depths to me 
than was the mystery before! 

Yet had it Hope; 

and Hope was more 

my seeking now 
Than all things else 

— but Love; 
And Love — was it not yet 

mine own? 



Of all his talk 
the ending I remember well 
— 'twas this: 
I dreamed, 

and thought I was awake, 

I woke, 

and thought 

that I was dreaming, 
The seeming 

proved to be the real, 
And it — the real — 

to be the seeming! 

So hoped I it would be with me, 

for then would Vashti come. 

At this I thought 

to tell him of my dreams 
— my visions 
(For 1 ne'er had told them yet 

to any). 
But the telling 

had not well begun, 
When heard we 

sound of music 
And the tripping of light feet, 
in joyous whirl of dancing. 

Now the music 

(and the dancing) 
Had a sound to me 

familiar; 
And (before my mem'ry 

brought the older scene 

before me), 
Lo! beside us standing, 

with us both there list'ning, 

Was the little maiden messenger, 

as in my dream I saw her! 



104 



This the very place, 

and all was as I saw it. 
She was standing as before, 
in posture as one tired 
and wearied, 
Drinking in the harmonies 
of heaven, 

opened to her senses, 
And quenching thirst 

as of a famished soul. 

More; on her shoulders 

was the self-same wrap 
— The remnant off a train 

of maiden's robing 
That, in comedy, before, 
had warmed her, 

as a cape or cloak! 
I said that I would question her 
— before the end; 
For of a chain invisible 
that bound me to my Vashti, 
was she not a link? 
If that which was a comedy, 
and in a dream, 

were prophecy, were real, 
Much more must that be real 

that was no play 
— That was all Life 

— all Soul — all Love. 
Aye, now was I to find my love 
— to meet her — know her 
— make her mine 

— mine own — my Yashti. 

Hold! my heart impatient, hold! 
—Too fast thine hoping! 



— This my sight so real, 

less than the Yision was 

in lasting; 
When the music ceased, 

and paused the dancing, 
We were waiting for a moment, 
in the thrill of something 
That was like a spell 

upon the soul, 
That none had dared 

to break. 
— While waiting thus, 

a voice took up the harmony 
and sang with feeling rare 
A song of sentiment 

most tender. 
Words and melody 

both caught my ear 
(but more the words); 
Nor could I help 

but listen to the end. 

When it was done 

I turned me 
To the maid beside me 

for the questioning; 
— But, O my heart! 

the maid was gone! 
ISTor need I say I chicled me 

for careless loss of chance 
— Aye, chance it was, 

for surely 't were not Fate 
To fail its mission 

in the very ending! 
At the end I questioned, 
if it were the real 

— this seeming. 



1Q5 



If a seeming only, 

then the Vision 

were not real; 
Were the Vision real, 

could this my very seeing 

be a vision only? 

—Days passed on 

and still no sign of Vashti. 
Then was Hope again behind 

and lagging in the race; 
For Love ne'er halted 

in her speeding. 
Now, at best, I said, 

could Hope but overtake; 
For Love would never lag 

nor fall behind, 
Nor would she halt 
if even Vashti 
were less real than Life; 
Or, if more real 

than visions. 
So again, I asked myself: 

Is not this life 
The dream of other life 

more real? 
—This life 

— the whole of it — 
Is it the dream 

of other larger, fuller life, 
A dream to have 

its morning and its waking? 
If it were true, there were, 
e'en in this dream of living, 

something of reality. 

And then my heart gave answer 

Over all my questioning; 



106 



If in what has a seeming, 

there is something real, 
This must it be (if only this) 

— it must be — Love. 
If there be Love, 

then Vashti lives. 
And so the days had passed, 

nor came to me my Vashti. 
Love went on before 

and beckoned, 
But was Hope behind 

and lingering; 
Till, at last, her smile was gone 
— was smile of Hope — 
For she was not 

within my vision now. 
The days have passed; 

and this the ending 

of my dream 
— My dream of Love 

— my thought of Life! 
Now may I sing 

(as did the lover 

in my dream): 
O Glorious Night! 

Love of Mine! 
But this I may not sing 

(as he had sung): 
Star of Hope! 

O World of Joy! 
For Hope and Joy are not for me, 
who lost ere yet he found! 
To me it seems the way of Life 
but leadeth into Shadows 
And is lost 

ere yet 't is well begun 



— Ere yet the brilliance 

of the Light 
Hath made its home 

within the Soul! 
So in the Shadow 

of my hopeless Love 

— my loveless Life — 
I write this story 

of my dreaming; 
And the while I 

pen the words, 
My mind is surging 

with the melody 
That in my Vision 

haunted me 
— That strange, sweet, 

sad Eefrain of Life! 
So ends it all; 
and naught is left but Love, 
and memory of a dream! 



A year has passed 

since I have written 
What is gone before, 

as now it stands; 
And I have yet to tell 
the strangest of it all 
— the strangest, but the best. 
It chanced 

that on an autumn day 
I was alone and wheeling, 
107 



When the sky was darkening 

in the promise of a storm. 
While quickening speed, 

in hope to reach some shelter, 
Saw I three before me 

who with same intent 
Were wheeling fast 

along the way. 

Ere I had overtaken them, 
it chanced that one 

— a maiden — 
Slackened speed 

and fell behind, 
And in a moment 

had dismounted 
For some mending of the gear 
that answered ill 

her need for haste. 

Now at the warning 

of a thunder peal 

and drops of rain, 
I stayed my progress at her side 
and quick dismounting, 
to the maiden said: 
"My wheel — please take it 
—I will follow 

with your own." 
She turned inquiringly. 

and in her upward glance 
I saw — O heart of mine! 

— 'twas Yashti! 
On her face was smile 

of recognition, 
And it blended with a look 

of wonder, welcome. 



Then she quick obeyed 
my thought, 

and mounted, 
Waiting but to speak 

her gratefulness, 
In way that made 

an easy pleasure 

of my little duty. 
Then she followed on 

to overtake the friends 
Who only now 

had noted her delay, 

and back were turning. 
Nor was I behind them far, 
for quickly had I seen 
The fault that hindered 
in her wheeling, 
and had made adjustment. 
Nor is need of saying 

that a smile before me 
drew me faster on 
Than did the elements 

of Nature drive me. 



Aye, and now no need 

to make the telling long 

of all that followed. 
In the finding of my Vashti 

was the whole 
—Was Hope renewed, 

was Love made glad, 

was Life and meaning. 



Ere they reached the shelter, 

I had overtaken them-, 
And, in her thoughtful way, 

had Vashti 
Dropped again behind, 

and welcomed me beside her. 
At the shelter, I was given 
hearty greeting 
And acquaintance 

with the friends. 
But there I wondered 

at our meeting, 
And I questioned— 

was I dreaming, 
When I saw 

these friends of Yashti 
Were her sister Euth, 

and Jacob! 



Now did time speed on 

and faster than before, 
For Yashti oft was wheeling 

in those days; 
And she was ne'er alone 

— nor I when Vashti wheeled. 
And there were those 

who called us lovers; 
Nor had I a thought 

to make pretense 
Of any protest 

'gainst this naming 

of our friendship. 
But to Vashti 
I had yet to speak in words 

my love; 
J08 



Though it had seemed to me 
I oft had spoken 
more than words could utter, 
And that Vashti knew 

the language of my soul. 



One day when we alone 

were having sweet 

companionship 
We spoke of many things, 

and, of them all, 
Most in my thought 

was this— 
I questioned: "Saw you me 
before the friendly storm 
and accident 
That gave me privilege 
so welcome 
—had we met before?" 
(For I was thinking 

of the Vision 
And my dream 

of finding her). 
"I saw you in the office 

when you came so suddenly 
nor expected, 
And away again as quickly 

and no word explaining!" 
"But was I in any office once 
and saw you there?" 
I asked in seeming doubt. 
"Do you forget so scon!" 

and saying this, she laughed 
— A rippling laugh 

that was her own 



— One more than music 

to my ear, 
And one that thrilled my being, 
loved I it so well. 
"Kay, I do not forget," I said; 
"nor could it be, 

with face of one so fair 
As that I saw, 

to haunt my memory. 
I do not forget, 

nor said I that I saw you not, 
Nor had not left 

in manner strange 

and sudden; 
Only questioned I if we had met 
— if you had seen me 

e'er before 
— Or ere the day we met 

when wheeling?" 
Vashti laughed again: 
'A riddle it must be," she said, 
"One fitting well the mystery 
Of so strange appearing 

and a stranger going. 
IsTor have I a thought 

to chide you 
For your holding back 

the answer at your will; 
But riddle it must surely be, 
and one I may not solve 
alone." 
"Then may I help you?" 

questioned I; 
And Vashti answered gaily: 
"You the answer have already 
— 'tis your riddle 



109 



And no solving do you need; 
but you may tell me, 
for no clue have I 

for solving." 
"Nay," I said, 
"it is my riddle, 
yet another's 

— not alone mine own; 
And so the solving 

is for both." 
Now, neither can, alone, 

find answer, 
Nor can all the world 

outside. 
As you have need of help 

of mine, 
So I have need 

for thine." 
I said the words 

with tone that spoke 
A deeper feeling 

than the thought 

of careless riddle, 
With the tone that fitted well 
the riddle of our lives 
— of Vashti's and mine own. 
Then Vashti quiet grew, 

nor»answered. 
"May I help you?" 

questioned I again, 

in pleading tone. 
Yet Vashti waited 

for a moment longer, 

then she said: 
"We'll try alone, 

— a little longer, then—" 



But when she paused, 

I said: 
"Then failing answer, 

you will help me, Vashti, 
And it will come 

—the answer." 

Now she ne'er before 

had heard me 
Speak her name 

in manner so familiar; 
Yet, though startled, 

as if in surprise, 
No protest did she make 

to my assurance. 

Then was I in mood 

to say, "My Vashti," 
But I waited, 

wisely, as I thought, 
In fear of answer 

like that made before 
By Vashti 

(as I dreamed it was). 
Yea, I had gone full far 

already, 
And must patient be 

a little longer. 
Nor was patience 

hard or heavy, 
As in all the days 

when Hope was gone; 
For Vashti gave me 

sweet companionship, 

and smiled upon me. 

Now was Hope 

fast overtaking Love 
no 



(Though Love 

had long outlasted it). 

Not many days had passed 

ere I again 
Had sweet companionship 

with Vashti. 
"Now a question, if I may," 

I said, 
"Did e'er you see me other time 
than in the office 

near your chair?" 

And Vashti answered: 

"Sometimes I have thought 
I knew you long before. 
At times it so has seemed 

to me, 
And then I tell myself, 

'Not so;' 
For I had never known one 

and forgotten. 
I do not forget 

the friends I meet, 
When once I know them 

— know and — like. 
Nay, though you seem 

a friend of old, 
It must not be 

that we have met before." 
"If you remember best 

the friends you like, 
Was I, mayhap, one to be known 
and unremembered?" 
So I questioned 

and in playful way, 

but earnestly. 



"Nay, you are one 

to be remembered well," 

she said; 
And then her eyes fell 

'neath my questioning gaze. 
But ere I spoke again, 

another word had Vashti: 
"Who had told you 

of my waiting there, 

And of the puzzle 

in my thought? 
— How chanced it that you came 
— by accident?" 
" 'T is yet to me a riddle," 

was my answer, 
"Nor one easy for my solving, 

as it seems; 
For, was it real, my going? 

How I found my way? 
And how I knew the need? 

— I wait the answer. 
Only do I know 

that some strange power 

was drawing me, 
— Full willing to be led 

by such sweet influence." 
But Vashti answered 

not in keeping 
with my thought. 
She said: "I know you came, 
yet sometimes it has seemed 
't was all a dream. 
— Did it seem real 

to you?" 
"I thought it real," 

I said, 



111 



"But found that I, indeed, 
had only dreamed 

of going to you!" 
"Nay," she said, 

"you were not dreaming 
—Know we not and well 

that neither dreamed, 

and all was real?" 
"Aye, all was real," I answered, 

now in happy mood, 
"For you are real, 

whom I had thought 

a dream — 
Unless it be indeed, 

that we are dreaming now!" 
Then Vashti laughed again 
her silvery laugh 

bewitching to my heart. 
"Methinks this is no dream," 
she said, 
"For you seem real as I, 
and if we both are real, 

we are not dreaming!" 
"Aye, unless it be," I said, 
"that only dreams are real 
and all the rest imagined. 
— Let us prove the dream 

that was no dream, 
Or test the real, 

that seemed a dream: 
What was your question 
that I answesed 

in the office?" 
"This: 'What is our Life 
— its meaning 

and its purpose?' " 



"And my answer?" 
"On the sheet 

that lay before me, 
With my hand you wrote: 
' 'T is by self-effort we progress 
— advance to higher planes 
— to larger life.' " 
"And then?" 
"Next I had questioned 

if there were no Love-Life?" 

"And my answer?" 
" 'Truly there is one,' you said, 
'Both here and otherwhere;' 

't was thus you answered," 
"Asked you nothing more?" 
"Yes, this: 'What is the best 
in Life?' " 
"And what my writing 
in response?" 
But Vashti held her answer. 
"Tell me, lest in dream, again, 

I lose the real!" 
" ' 'T is Love,' you wrote," 

she said. 
"And is it not the best 

— was I not right?" 
So questioned I of Vashti, 
and my voice grew tender, 
over my controlling. 
Vashti made some halt 

to saying, 
But I held her to my question 
till she answered; 
and her word was — "Yes." 
Then waited I no longer 

in the daring of my fate: 



112 



And said: 

"But only is it best of all for me 

if it be VashWs love; 
—Will Vashti tell me 

I may have the best? 
O Vashti, say not nay 

to this my seeking — 
For it is my best I ask; 
aye, 't is my all in life, 

all else would be a dream." 
Then was her hand in mine, 
and, in her answer, came to me 
all 1 had willed to have 
— So it had come to me, at last, 

by seeking, finding, 
It had come by law unerring 
— now was Vashti real 

— and mine. 



Beside me, while I write . 

the ending 
Of this story of my dream, 
(if one may call a thing so real, 
a dream,) 
A woman of rare beauty sits, 

and in her arms a babe, 
"While she — the mother— croons, 
and sweetly— O, so sweetly, 
and as tenderly, 
The lullaby I heard before, 

heard in my vision real. 
I love this woman and her babe, 
and they are all the world 
to me. 



As runs the lover's song: 
"No world were this old world, 
if it were not for these 

— my loved ones." 
Need I say that Vashti 

is the name of her 

— the mother — 
Singing to our babe 

in sweetest slumber 

of its life? 
And we have named the babe 

—we call her Ethel. 
Across the way 

has been prepared 

a little home; 
And soon within its walls 

will come to dwell two lovers. 
These are Jacob, 

who is in our hearts a brother, 
And our sister Buth, 

who soon will be his wife. 
Beside this home 

is yet another, dear to us, 
Where live the older ones 

in restful comfort, 

and with John. 
And John still mourns, 

but not as once, 
For he has found a Hope 
that links the Future 

with the Present. 

Aye, with John 

has Love and Hope 

been reconciled; 
And he has found, 

and in this life itself, 



113 



A joy, a purpose, 

and a meaning. 
John is well beloved by all, 

by men and maids, 
For he is ever true 

and loyal. 
Fellowship, and much, has he 

with woman 
— Such companionship 
as has no thought 
of tend'rest ties of Love 
— No deeper sentiment 

than is the warmth 

of friendship; 
— 'T is the fellowship of humans 
— brothers, sisters 
Of the larger Family 

Divine. 
And in his life and bearing, 

John is teaching others 
That on higher planes, 

where man and woman 
Shall have risen 

to their larger powers, 



There is joy 

in soul companionship, 
in fellowship, 
Between the man and woman, 
that is kin to Love. 



So ends this Story 

of my Yision 
— Ends as Life must end 

in some beginning new; 
And that beginning 

well may mean 

a larger living. 
More; to me, 

this larger living here 
Will ever mean 

the happiness of Love 
— Of Manhood true, 

of Wifehood, Motherhood, 
And (type of newer Life) 

of Babes. 



114 



AFTERMATH. 



We speak a truism when we say that life's journey Is 
one of struggle, one of some hardship, of buffeting currents, 
of overcoming obstacles. When we question what is the 
purpose of it all, none may deny if we answer that it is that 
he who engages in this struggle shall make progress. 

If the struggle be for every human being, let us say 
that it is for every human being to have the good of it— that 
every man and woman shall have all opportunity for progress. 
That no bar in the way of one's progress be placed there 
by another, is the least of all to ask. 

Let us go further and say it is a praiseworthy desire or 
ambition, as well as a right, for every soul born of woman to 
strive to reach the highest level of its possibilities. 

At the best, the journey of life is a difficult one and 
one beset with dangers. There are chances, many to one, of 
losing the way; and it may be that the chances are only one 
to many that it shall be found again;— unless it be after a 
long time of wandering (for we must hope that no one's way 
will be lost beyond finding). 

Be that as it may, one thing is clear. If the obstacles 
in the way of us are insurmountable at all, it is only by the 
force of will— determined and persistent — of will so indomit- 
able as almost to prove the divine power within the soul. 



Like a race is this journey of progress, solitary and 
independent though it may seem to be in its character. 
Rather is it not a series of races? If not at the beginning, 
the time comes to the many, before they have trudged far 
along life's pathway, when it is forced upon them to compete 
with their fellows. 

As fellow travelers, let us say that our world is divided 
into two great camps. At least for purposes of comparison, 
this division is one very real. 

One of these camps is made up of those who are weaker 
than are those in the other camp. It is made up of indi- 
viduals who are weaker physically, almost beyond controversy. 
Are they weaker intellectually? Some say yes; but we say, 
not of necessity. Let us admit that under the existing 
conditions — forced and unnecessary, it may be, they are actu- 
ally and practically weaker intellectually. But in other ways 
they are stronger At least they are stronger spiritually, if 
only under the existing conditions. 

In all the long past this weaker camp has been under 
control of the other and stronger one. In all the long 
centuries, have limitations been put upon it, and exactions been 
made of it. Of the limitations, has been traditional con- 
ventionalism; of the requirements, actual devotion to the 
interests of the dominant camp. 

As to this devotion, it has almost been demanded of 
the weaker camp that the need for self-progress of the indi- 
viduals within it be forgotten in the desire to favor and assist 
the progress of those in the stronger camp. Almost have the 
weaker ones forgotten that they had a race to make for 
themselves, and that it was a race not to be made by proxy. 

One may almost say that a disparity always has existed, 
and that it was maintained inexorably by the master camp, 
and has been resignedly submitted to, by the other and 
weaker camp. 

In this progress, greater or less, that both camps have 
made, there has been one development touching upon the 



very disparity of which we speak. It is an awakening — an 
awakening to the enormity and unreasonableness of the dis- 
parity that has existed. The awakening has not been con- 
fined to one camp, and it has been almost sudden. 

With this awakening, partial and recent though it may 
be, there already has been marked progress toward emanci- 
pation of the element that has been under limitations, 
repressions and exactions. 

This result is in line with general progress. Such 
progress is the order of the day. It means changes that are 
revolutionary. It means ultimate and early disintegration of 
all blind, unreasoning forces — forces of error, superstition, 
tyrannical oppression, selfish exactions, old-time prerogatives, 
assumed superiorities, class privileges, monopolies of birth- 
rights. 

In this purifying of the air, in this justifying of all 
claims, in this right-setting of wrongs, in this explosion of 
fallacies, there will be by-and-by nothing left of these forces 
that have always impeded progress. Among the things going 
and to go, there is one thing that could not long continue to 
exist as the solitary unrighted wrong — the only unrevolution- 
ized anomaly. What is that one thing? Do you ask? Upon 
my word, I believe you do. I will tell you: 

It is that disparity of which I have been speaking. 

Almost does it seem that some of us look to see this 
anomaly continue intact all through the clash of the break- 
ing up of worlds of old traditions and conditions; and the 
reason for our unpreparedness for a change may be that for a 
long time there was little sign of any breaking up at all. 
This has indeed been one of the most conservative of all 
forces; but its strength seems now well-nigh spent. The 
break has been made at last, and it is its very suddenness and 
its rapidity of movement that makes us draw our hands 
across our eyes to find if we are awake or dreaming. 

Let me tell you— confreres of the major camp— we are 
not dreaming; what our eyes see to-day is cold actuality, and 



we shall nave all opportunity to get full accustomed to it all 
— and more. So rapid is the movement — though peaceful the 
revolution — we well may question if it is not now being proven 
that spirituality is a force greater than physical strength and 
intellectual powers combined! Events are answering that 
(with right in its favor) it is indeed the greater force. It is 
stronger in the end — even if it be long, long, long in over- 
coming the regnant force of what has been well established 
in the minds of men as a finality. 

Let us, in plain words, localize the application. Let us 
admit that this century almost closed upon woman enthralled 
in the limitations of exacting conventionalities and tradi- 
tions. In numberless ways has she been burdened and 
hampered, even beyond the necessities of her being. Though 
she had to run a race, even as man, for the very same need 
of life-preservation, as well as for her own growth— her 
progress, has she not been handicapped and obstacled in a 
hundred ways where man is free? 

It is a question, if man so afflicted would have had 
the courage to live. 

In all her weakness — burdened, hampered, handicapped, 
is it not true that this glorious century is now closing upon 
the drama of woman contending (against the conservatism of 
resistance) actually for the privilege of right of way, in the 
race? 

Almost I might have written tragedy for drama. 

It is true, fellows, and the time has come for you to 
see this truth in all its bareness and ugliness, and to admit 
that it is an unwholesome fact that demands recognition. It 
is time, too, to admit that whatever excuse there was for our 
fathers, a knowledge of the truth has robbed you and me of 
even the excuse of ignorance. 

Wanting even so poor an excuse, we well may learn 
what is demanded of us. 

An appeal to man that involves the rights of woman, 
ought to be made on the higher ground of justice. That 



would be the ground for an effective appeal to woman in the 
interest of man. But, methinks, there is other ground for a 
more effective appeal to man for woman's sake. And that? 
What else could it be than that of self-interest? 

Then let us to that lower level; for man is in question 
here. 

Remember that, whether we will or no, all that will 
be asked of us is coming, and quickly. So our virtue will 
yet be a necessity. 

Let us then make our peace with the inevitable. 

Let us determine that now and forever woman shall be 
her own voice, and need no arbiter. In whatever strength 
of superiority that may be ours, let us vow allegiance to the 
incoming force. 

Yes, the inevitable is upon us. The spirit of the age is 
upon woman, and her strength, under the spur of the 
Philistine assaults of the traditions of centuries, will burst 
her bonds. Her spiritual strength has been even greater than 
that strength which is of the order of Samson. 

The spirit of fair play may not be in us; and we may 
have a hope to deny her, as we have done in the centuries 
past. Then let our colder judgment come to our aid, and 
make us her champion for the good it will be in the end to 
ourselves. If within the deeper heart of us we can rouse this 
spirit of championship, though we do it for our own good- 
it will be of help to our sister. Now is the call and oppor- 
tunity for yeoman service to woman in the line of man's own 
interests. 

Listen. It continues to be possible for us to impede 
woman's progress. We may make her every forward step a 
hardship and her path one of thorns to the flesh. Boys with 
early promise of the brutal masculinity of a perverted man- 
hood, may hoot and jeer at each innovation, and cause the 
sensitive heart heroic of devoted martyrdom to bleed. Men 
may hurt by every form of flippant act of unmanliness— by 
inconclusive smart talk, by sorry jesting, by ill-bred stare, 



We can hurt and sting— God only knows how much— but we 
cannot stop the movement. 

The blue-laws of Connecticut are incomprehensible to us 
to-day, and now, near the close of the century, the last of 
them (long a dead letter) has been repealed — forever repealed, 
in mild, considerate derision. And it may not be far in the 
next century — if indeed, it come not now— when our own stupid 
battling against woman's progress shall be full evidence 
against us of something at best to be considerately pardoned 
because of the coarse animal within us. And this is our 
plea — that we coin some virtue of our necessity, and bow 
to the inevitable — which this time is the fair and the in- 
vincible. 

Our time is short, and let us make hay while the sun 
shines. My stock of proverbs of selfishness is unequal to the 
need; but there is something more to remind ourselves of: 

Always will woman — however advanced, however robed — 
be woman. Always will she delight in the burden of service 
and devotion — it is in the very soul of her to do it. Always 
will the voice of a child touch her heart, the color of a ribbon 
please her fancy, the flash of a gem sparkle her eye. 

We always have loved her, and even while we have 
abused her, we have said in our hearts — God bless her! 
Always have we been willing to spill our blood to protect her 
— from others. Always has her smile been a flash of heaven's 
light, and the denial of it has made this world almost too 
bleak for life. 

Come, then, let us reason together; and in our bowing 
to the inevitable, let this be our speech to the invincible: 

"What you shall do, and eat, and wear, and how you 
shall live, shall be forever more a matter of your own choos- 
ing. With your choice, at all times, we shall have nothing 
to do. Only when we see you hampered, hindered, limited or 
burdened by any who have no right to impede your progress, — 
only then shall your affair be ours, and it be our right to 
interfere. When this comes, and you need championship, 



may it be our good fortune to be of those whose champion- 
ship will win your smile. 

In all ways of your own choosing, you shall be your own 
arbiter. Some of us shall make this our vow; and some there 
may be who will dally and hesitate. If so, when the time 
shall come for the smile of approval, it will be their lot to 
envy others who, however little more deserving at heart they 
may have been, will have had the good sense which meets 
the reward of better deserving. And the thought comes to 
me here, that even this privilege of championship may be lost 
to us; for if woman shall have to depend upon her inde- 
pendence to save herself from injustice at our own hands, she 
will have independence enough to decline our championship in 
the saving of her from injustice at the hands of others. 

Sorry will be the day — if it come — when the privilege 
and pleasure of helping woman is lost to me — because of the 
unworthiness of my manhood! 

Brothers, give heed. 

A pitiable plea is this, methinks, when remembering 
the claims of woman upon us. The writer has had mother, 
sisters, wife and daughters. What there is left to him of 
femininity — mother and daughters — were it taken from him, 
where is the vocabulary to express the utter desolation of 
heart that it would mean! 

And who is he that hath not in life, or memory, some- 
thing to bind him closely into one great bond of sympathy 
with his thought through devotion to at least a mother? 

If on this beautiful, green earth there be one so callous 
as to be unsympathetic at this point — at this touch of nature 
— God pity him for his trackless wanderings. His loss is 
punishment enough and we have no blame for him. 

Surely, this itself is enough to lift the appeal above the 
level of self and self-interest. Surely some of you will 
respond, and say that it is the higher appeal that is the 
stronger one. For any to do this is to afford a rare new hope 
— a hope for the emancipation also — of the masculine, 



Lo! the spirit 

of a heart heroic, 
Who in his life was weak 
as men are weak, 
But strong 

as man is strong, 
Is speaking from the century gone, 

as one illumined. 
His voice is eloquent 

for woman whom he loved. 
This is his pleading: 
"While the fate of empires 

and the fall of kings 

engage our thoughts, 
While quacks of state 

produce their plans, 
While even children lisp 

the rights of man, 
Other rights 

have merit of attention; 
Give them heed; 

— they are the rights of woman." 

"Truce with kings 

and truce with constitutions, 
With bloody armaments 

and revolutions;" 
Other majesty 

in thine own day had sway 
And (blessed be 

thy wayward, gentle memory, 

O Robert Burns!) 
Will have more sway 

in days to come 
Than in our day, or thine, 

—the Majesty of Woman. 



A CONVERSATION. 

Said his friend: "Your book seems to have found some 
favor with the critics." 

"Yes," answered the book-maker, "with the limited circle 
of friendly ones who have read the manuscript, at least. 
Particularly," he continued, laughingly, "those parts of the 
book that I did not write." 

The expression of the friend's face was an interrogation. 

The book-maker explained: "What do I mean? This, that 
in the writing I freely used the work of other writers where it 
served my purpose." 

"Ah! then the book is not all original!" 

"Not wholly; and if I needed justification for the use of 
outside material, it has come in the unstinted praise that has 
been given the very portions borrowed. I thought it useless, 
for instance, to attempt to write anything better about love 
than Boyesen wrote, and I used it. One friendly critic who 
returned my manuscript with sundry comments, had written 
along the margin of Boyesen's thought: 'This is sublime.' " 

"Did he know who wrote it?" 

"No he supposed it was all mine — so with the proof-reader, 
Stoically he read till we reached that same passage, and said, 
'This is fine.' When I told him that it was not purely original, 
he said, 'Blessed be plagiarism.' " 

"Did he mean, that your reproduction of the thought 
would immortalize it?" 

"He did not explain. He may have meant that it was the 
'saving clause' of the book up to that point!" 

"Boyesen's work is very captivating," said his friend, "I 
never see his name that I do not read what it stands for." 



The book-maker grew sad and contemplative. "At the 
very time I had in my thought the pleasure of writing to 
Boyesen mv acknowledgment of obligation, came the unwelcome 
news of his sudden going out." 

"Well, your book is not all borrowed," said his friend, 
generously, ' and I doubt not it has original passages equal to 
what is borrowed." 

"Very kind of you," said the gratified book-maker. What 
part did you like best?" 

"The Scroll — Vashti, the King, and the feasters, and the 
lesson it teaches." 

"Ah! that, taken from the Bible, is the least original of 
all," said the book-maker, disappointedly. 

"Well, at least you must have credit for frankness," said 
his friend, consolingly. 

"Not necessarily." answered the book-maker, persistently 
"It would be folly for one to draw upon others, so freely as I 
have done, and not acknowledge the source. A lady who read 
my manuscript said that a part of it reminded her of Prentice 
Mulford. I told her that might easily be true, for I had drawn 
it mainly from a chapter of his, on 'Dress.' " 

"Was all the rest original?" 

"No, an artist friend brought back the manuscript, saying 
he was delighted, especially with the song sung by the old man 
whose plaint was "the old path up the hill: gone forever." It 
happens that this is one of the only two songs that are not 
original. 

"So it goes. I owe the best part of the thought taught 
by the teacher, 'dreamy, introspective,' to Birch Arnold, taken 
from the ephemeral pages of a metropolitan newspaper. A 
friendly critic wrote of this part as 'true and helpful gospel,' 
and said that 'nothing but highest praise could be given to 
those pages.'" 

"Shakespeare was a plagiarist, too," said his friend, 
helpfully. 

"Nay, mine friend, there were no comfort in that 



thought. In one's right mind, one would not choose to be a 
plagiarist, even with so great an example as a Shakespeare. 
But Shakespeare was no plagiarist. Only as a boy was he a 
poacher, and it was not in literary preserves. 

"And I, in my humbler way, did not plagiarize. All 
writing should be impersonal. The personality of the writer 
does not exist except through his work. It is at best remote, 
and incidental to that work. From the higher standpoint, it 
should be the purpose of a writer to produce the very best work 
within his powers. If by the use of material available from 
outside sources, one may better his own work, it is in the 
interest of the reader that it be done." 

"You do not like plagiarism," said his friend, in a 
humorous vein, "you favor, rather, a process that would be 
called 'conscious cerebration.' " 

"That is, indeed, my literary creed," responded the book- 
maker. I believe in that conscious cerebration which is not 
plagiarism, which admits an even freer use of the work of 
others, but involves due acknowledgment of the source of one's 
inspiration!" 

"But Shakespeare did not give credit to others; was he 
not a plagiarist?" 

"We have but to remember how little we know about 
Shakespeare biographically, to realize how impersonal he was as 
a writer. How easy to conceive that the sense of his person- 
ality was lost in the work of his genius. Like Shakespeare the 
actor, Shakespeare the writer seemed to sink his own person- 
ality in his creations. One may easily believe that Shakespeare 
so far forgot the very question of authorship (as being a matter 
of any interest or importance) that he felt no need either to 
claim or disclaim originality. Shakespeare did not seem even to 
realize that his work was immortal." 

"If he were writing to-day," said his friend, "he would 
be able better to realize his own genius." 

"And would have no need to plagiarize," answered the 
book-maker. 



OPINIONS OF CRITICS. 

"A truly inspired work." 

"It is surprisingly graceful, metaphysical and dramatic. 
It is unique in literature." 

"In an entertaining and true picture are shown the whims 
of Fashion, and the foolishness of certain customs and costumes. 
The evolution of the modern woman is well told; woman's 'right 
to suffer' is vividly and exquisitely drawn. This can be well 
said of Marvel Kayve: he is continually interesting." 

772 Walnut Street, 
Chicago, November 15, 1895. 
I have just read "Vashti; a Eomance of the Wheel," 
and with great interest. This work is written with the pen of 
a poet and the logic of a philosopher. The picture of human 
weakness and strength, meanness and nobility, is painted by 
a master brain and hand. 

It is profound in its analysis of mental habits and conven- 
tional ethics common to society. 

The thread of truth pervading, and on which it is built, is 
of the eternal ethics. Its exalted ideal of man and woman and 
of their relations, must make it a potent agency for uplifting 
all who are capable of aspiration. 

It is a grand production, and must have a great sale. I 
hope it may be read by tens of thousands. 
Yours sincerely, 

Ltjcinda B. Chandler. 




015 762 674 7 





